


Child's Play

by Colelockian



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angry John, Best Friends, Emotions, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Johnlock if you squint in some chapters, Love Confessions, Major Character Injury, Misunderstandings, Other, POV John Watson, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sick John, Sick Sherlock, Smut, but mostly straight up fluffy Johnlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-02-06 10:32:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1854844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colelockian/pseuds/Colelockian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one shots featuring our adorable duo. Mostly fluffy domestic stuff around 221B with lots of love confessions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dress Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is out of the flat and John has the place to himself, shenanigans ensue.

“Sherlock?” John called peeling the sweat soaked jumper from his body.

The streets of London were full of people out enjoying the summer heat but John didn’t want the sun and had left the clinic early after hours of zero patients.

John’s eyes found Sherlock’s usual black trench and blue scarf hanging by the door an indication he should be home.

“Sherlock?” The doctor called again almost hearing crickets as a response.

_He isn’t home! That rarely happens!_

John thought excitedly looking around the flat in a new light. It was like a theme park! All the things he could do and without hearing the loud complaints of his flat mate. John laughed out loud. Striping off his shoes and socks, the ex-solider strolled through the rooms marveling at the differences he noted.

No strange smells, no complaining, no pouting, no violin music (though he didn’t mind that much even at 4 in the morning), no consulting detective’s childish demands! John felt like a kid in a candy store! What should he do first? Walk around in his boxers? Cook something? LISTEN TO LOUD MUSIC?!

_LOUD MUSIC!!!_

John hurried back into the living room over to the dusty, neglected stereo system. Plugging in his phone, John spun the volume dial up radiating Metallica through the speakers. Laughing John spun around playing an air guitar. He could hear nothing but the music in his ears! After several minutes of dancing around the room, John jumped on some of the furniture doing fake stage dives for a pretend audience.

_If Sherlock were here…_

John stopped that thought from forming. No, right now it was his time.

_Sherlock got every other minute of the day!_

John told himself going back to his head banging feeling bubbling excitement.

An hour later, John was sprawled over Sherlock’s chair, ACDC now emulating through the flat with his eyes closed, he listened to the music. Laying there John had a silly idea and decided this was the best time to go with it.

Rolling off the chair John hurried to his room. Minutes passed before he returned to the living room dressed in full army greens, his unloaded gun in hand. Glancing around the room, a ridiculous smile on his face John suddenly dropped behind his chair gun clutched in both hands.

_Trapped behind enemy lines, Captain John Watson has only one choice if he wants to survive and make it over the boarder! To KILL!!!_

John narrated in his head, peeking over the chair to spy invisible gunmen. Giving a loud battle cry that was lost in the blaring music, the doctor launched himself over his chair aiming the gun “Bang! Bang!” he shouted watching the fake men fall. John dropped to a roll ending up under the computer desk.

_Almost there just have to make it pass the snipers and land mines._

Jon giggled glancing around before crawling out from under the table. Hopping over the floor as if dodging landmines, John dove into the kitchen.

_Damn! That was close!_

Tip-toeing over the kitchen floor, John glanced down the hall leading to the stairs up to his room. Giving a loud cry of fake pain, John dropped his gun clutching his chest.

“AHHHH!! He got me!” He yelled dramatically stumbling back into the kitchen bumping into the experiment laden table.

Slipping slowly to the floor John groaned. “Now I’ll never make it home,” he whispered as if they were his dying words. He let his eyes drift closed in an unrealistic death pose.

Cracking an eye, John looked around. “I’m not dying today,” he growled one hand still clutched to his chest. The almost middle aged man rolled to his knees using his free hand to drag himself in to the living room.

“I. Will. Not. Die. Today!” He breathed pulling himself further into the room.

Rolling on to his back John stared up at the ceiling. “Not. Strong. Enough. Tell. Diane. I. Love. Herrrrrr…..” John droned trailing the last word out before bursting out in a fit of laughter.

Pushing himself up, John’s eyes fell on Sherlock’s coat and scarf, a thought striking him. Feeling a little sneaky John ran to his room, grabbing the dropped gun on the way, stripping from his greens and pulling on a shirt and jeans.

Back in the living room John grabbing up the infamous scarf and wrapped it like Sherlock did around his neck. The cloth was incredible soft, no wonder the taller man wore it all the time. Next John carefully pulled on the trench. It was extremely long on him the bottom pooled around his feet. John had to roll up the sleeves several times just to find his hands.

_This thing is really warm! Now I know why Sherlock never layers up._

A slow song came out of the stereo and John bowed to a fake partner. “Shall we?” He asked putting his arms up as if taking a dancer in hand. Slowly John moved around the room dancing with the pretend person. Caught up in the music, John closed his eyes and let his mind loose in the motions of moving. Blindly he found his way into the kitchen, somehow managing not to run into anything.

Humming with the music John cracked his eyes open imagining a petit little blonde in his arms as he moved back into the living room again. Out of the corner of his eye John caught sight of a dark figure sitting on the couch. Startled John stumbled barely keeping himself from falling. Sherlock was back and sitting comfortably on the couch, his piercing eyes watching John.

The doctor’s face burned several shades of red as he scrambled over the coffee table to the stereo, ending the noise. A thick silence fell over the room as Sherlock continued to stare at him his face completely blank. Slowly easing his way closer to the couch John didn’t look at his flat mate, mortified what the man had witnessed.

“Sher…lock…I …I…can…explain?” He stammered though he had nothing, couldn’t think of a single logical thing that would make the situation any better. John stood there awkwardly eyes on the floor feeling like a scolded child though no one had spoken.

“John,” Sherlock’s warm baritone spoke but John kept his eyes fixed on the floor, “John, look at me,” the command was gentle but drew John’s eyes without much effort.

The blue of his eyes found the stormy blue/grey of Sherlock’s. The face gave nothing away and they just stared at each other. John became fully aware he was still wearing the too big trench and scarf. The crimson of his bush deepened but his eyes never moved from Sherlock’s.

The consulting detective slowly stood towering easily over the shorter man. Sherlock moved gracefully closer to the doctor stopping inches from him. John had to look up to keep his eyes on Sherlock, fighting a strong urge to run. Slowly Sherlock unwrapped the scarf from John’s neck draping it over his slim white arm. Next he leaned in to help John out of the trench. Holding the two things in his hands Sherlock linger in front of John a bit longer before a small secret smile stole across his face as the taller man turned returning the items to their spots.

John remained rooted to his spot conscious of the younger man. “Doctor,” the man’s voice cracked, “a cup of tea would be lovely.”

John turned his surprised eyes to the detective who was now planted in his seat, hands steepled under his chin in his thinking position. Dazed and confused about what had just happened, John drifted into the kitchen getting the tea that was requested.

Sherlock hadn’t moved from his spot when John returned with a steaming cup “Thank you John and…” he said looking up at John with that same secret smile, “I hope you had fun.” The briefest sound of amusement edged his voice as he took the drink. John smirked his embarrassment fading quickly as he took his own seat across from his friend sipping lazily on his tea.


	2. Photo Album

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is alone while John is at work. When boredom sends the genius up to John's room to be nosy, he finds something he's never seen before.

John wasn't home. He was working the clinic today and wouldn't be home for hours. Sherlock very rarely admitted to missing his blogger but today he would gladly swear on a bible if it meant John would be home soon.

Sadly it wouldn't be that easy. Sherlock lounged in his usual seat, staring at the empty chair of one John Watson, his flat mate and best friend.

"John!" He yelled, tipping his head back against his chair. Silence met his shout, not even a complaining landlady.

“JOHN!!” Sherlock tired again knowing full well that it wouldn’t do any good. John was at the clinic until seven tonight. Glancing over Sherlock spied a clock, it read: 11:00 a.m.

_Nine hours! What the bloody hell am I to do for nine hours?!_

“John…” he sighed feeling defeated and lonely.

 _Lonely_?

Sherlock pondered for a moment. Did he feel lonely? His never felt it before, so how could he truly know what it felt like.

_Lonely…_

The word felt right, it felt like it was the only word that would fit how he was feeling. Sherlock growled squirming in his seat.

_No John! No interesting cases! No Mrs. Hudson!_

He ranted angrily in his thoughts.

_How do normal people go on like this?_

Sherlock contemplated calling or texting Garth again but he had already done that to the point the Detective Inspector was now ignoring him.

_Not Garth, George? Gary? Grant?_

Huffing he folded his arms over his chest and started to pout.

_Maybe I could bother Mycroft… No, I’m definitely not lonely enough to start doing that!_

Sherlock glanced around the room, thinking what he might do to entertain himself until the good doctor returned. Nothing stuck out to him, his violin? No he only really enjoyed doing that when John was there to listen. John’s laptop? No, Sherlock had already gone through everything on there. John’s room...

_John’s room always has the most interesting stuff._

Sherlock mused, pushing himself to his feet. The journey through the flat and up the stairs to John’s room took but a moment.

The doctor’s room was neat and orderly, portraying the army life he once led.

_Where would John keep his gun?_

Sherlock thought ducking to look under the bed. The last time Sherlock had gotten John’s gun and shot up the smiley face wall, the ex-soldier had put Sherlock in a headlock just to get the thing back.

“Sherlock! I swear the next time I see you with this gun, I’m going to shoot you with it!” John had shouted when he had finally been able to get the gun back.

Sherlock smirked at the memory, this time he was going to make sure that he put the gun back so John wouldn’t see him with it. The underside of the bed proved to be a waste of time so Sherlock moved on to the closet.

Opening it up Sherlock spotted the familiar army trunk.

_Would John put it in there? That would be a silly place._

He grinned at the idea that John would think a simple army trunk would keep him away. Pulling the trunk from the closet Sherlock popped it open.

_No gun…_

Sherlock frowned. There wasn’t much in the trunk but Sherlock could tell the content hadn’t been messed with for some time so the gun couldn’t possibly be in its depths. John’s army greens sat in the bottom, looking forlorn and forgotten.

Sherlock cautiously drew them from the container. Standing up he let the shirt fall open.

**Watson, John**

**Field Medic**

Was printed in the right side of the chest. Sherlock eyed the shirt, imagining the small doctor in the shirt. A sudden idea sprung to his mind. Slowly the tall man pulled off his own button up and pulled on the doctor’s.

The thing was loose on Sherlock’s chest and surprisingly long as well covering over the top of his dark slacks. Looking to the full length mirror in the corner Sherlock looked himself over. He saw the same face he had seen his whole life but the green of the army shirt looked regal and Sherlock saw a completely different man staring back at him.

Bending over to pull out the pants Sherlock unrolled them and knew instantly there was no way they would fit. John’s short legs were nothing compared to Sherlock’s supermodel styled legs. He huffed disappointed before remembering he had once snagged a pair of regulation military pants just in case.

“Looks like I’ll finally get to put them to use!” Sherlock said loudly as he raced for his room.

 

Dressed in his own army pants and wearing John’s boots, Sherlock now eyed himself in the mirror. He had morphed into a taller version of John with dark hair.

“Yes! Sir!” Sherlock shouted saluting the mirror before moving to put his hands behind his back in a lacks position. Seeing something out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock looked to the trunk. There he saw something he hadn’t seen before; a photo album.

Curious, Sherlock sat down next to the trunk with his legs crossed and pulled the album out. Setting it down between his legs, Sherlock opened it. A young John smiled up at him. John looked to be in his early twenties and was holding an army application paper. Turning the page Sherlock saw more John pictures.

One with John training to be a medic, another with him in boot camp, turning the page, John holding a large gun, John next to a smiling patient, another page, John unsmiling in army greens, saluting, John looking weary and covered in dark blood.

Sherlock turned the page again, he froze. He saw John with his eyes closed, blood splattered on his face. An oozing wound on his shoulder was visible. Doctors were surrounding this bleeding John.

_When he got shot…_

Sherlock deduced. The picture made his stomach roll. He had never been sensitive to the sight or smell of blood but seeing John like that, seeing the strongest man he had ever known at death’s door...well it terrified Sherlock. Even though the picture was old and that time had long passed Sherlock turned the page without looking at the second picture before he became nauseous.

The next pictures were better. John smiling tiredly, giving the camera thumbs up, still hooked up to I.V’s and a heart monitor, John with his shirt hanging off his shoulder, showing off the new scar.

Next page was of John and Harry. Sherlock could tell just from the first picture it was John’s birthday and Harry was drunk. John’s face in the picture wasn’t looking towards the camera but at his sister with a disappointed frown while Harry flipped the camera off.

Smirking, Sherlock looked to the second picture. This one was of a younger John and Harry, as kids. Harry was doubled over, laughing while John had his arm over her shoulder with his own laughing face.

Flipping the page Sherlock was shocked to see himself.

It was of him and John standing together. Both had serious faces and looked to be having a conversation. Crime scene tape in the background told Sherlock it was taken on a case.

_Cell phone...must thank Graham for this..._

Sherlock thought moving on to the next picture. The second picture was of Sherlock and John laughing about something. He was startled to see that in the picture he looked genuinely happy. John was smiling as well his face turned in Sherlock’s direction. He stared at the picture wondering who and where this had been taken. Searching Sherlock deduced it was another picture taken at a crime scene and again taken by a cell phone.

Grath again…

Going on Sherlock found more pictures of himself and John. The next one was not from Geoff, most likely Mrs. Hudson.

_Traitor…_

Sherlock thought looking it over. In the picture he was laying, clearly asleep on the couch. He was stretched out taking up the entire space. John was leaning against the couch sitting on the floor also asleep with his chin resting on his chest. Sherlock’s hand was gripping John’s shoulder in the picture.  Noting that Sherlock stared at it.

_When did this happen?_

He had fallen asleep on the couch plenty of times but this moment frozen in time he had no recollection. Sherlock pulled the album closer to his face but the image gave nothing more.

Looking to the second picture he smirked. It was John and him again. It was after a case and Sherlock had gotten a deep cut on his arm, of course he refused to let the paramedics stitch him up.

In the picture John was in the process of stitching the wound, he wore a very exasperated look but still held a smile. Sherlock was glaring at him in the background, his mouth open, probably issuing an insult at the doctor. Sherlock chuckled at the picture before turning the page.

The next two were taking by John himself, from his cell phone. Sherlock sighed.

_Selfies…_

John had pulled Sherlock in at the last moment and snapped the picture. Surprisingly it wasn’t blurred. John was smiling at the camera and even Sherlock held a small smile. Their heads were pressed together on the small plastic surface of the photo.

_Actually not a bad picture…_

Sherlock thought glancing to the next one, also a selfie.

John had been sitting on the couch and Sherlock had propped his feet up on the doctor’s lap while he read. John was at the edge of the picture aiming the lens down the couch to capture a glaring Sherlock. He chuckled and turned the page to the last photo.

This one was one that Sherlock had taken and he clearly remembered taking it. He was unsure how John had come by it. It was of a sleeping John.

It had been a late night and John had been reading when he had fallen asleep. The book had hit the floor with a loud thud startling Sherlock from his mind palace. Looking over he noticed the doctor was asleep, even attempted to wake the man which proved to be impossible.

Sherlock had stood over John pondering how to get him into bed where he would be more comfortable and wouldn’t wake with a sore shoulder. When Sherlock couldn’t come up with something, he instead grabbed up a pillow and blanket, putting the pillow under the doctor’s head and the blanket over him. Sherlock felt a picture needed to be taken. That picture had somehow ended up in John’s album.

_I’ll have to ask him about it._

Sherlock thought shutting the book and returning it to the trunk, his thoughts far from finding the gun. Pulling off the shirt, Sherlock folded it as it had been and returned it back as well. The boots followed and Sherlock closed the trunk, pushing it back into the closet.

As he straightened wearing only pants, Sherlock’s eyes drifted over the hung jumpers. “Hmmm…” He smiled trailing his fingers over the soft wool.

Pulling a large one from the hanger, Sherlock eyed it. The jumper was simple, a light brown color that went well with John’s eyes. It didn’t have a pattern which suited Sherlock as he pulled it over his head.

It was too large around and too long for even his lanky limbs. Sherlock suppressed a giggle as he rolled up the sleeves to find his fingers. They didn’t stay rolled. Eventually Sherlock just left them long. The heavy sleeves drug the jumper around his shoulders.

Glancing over at the mirror Sherlock laughed out loud. His stark green army pants, and light brown jumper that dropped around his shoulders, reminded him of a uni girl during a late night study session.

The sound of the door opening down stairs made Sherlock’s heart jump in his chest. “John?” He whispered before hearing,

“Sherlock? You here?”

Sherlock raced out of John’s room and down the stairs. The doctor was just coming into the kitchen when the taller man plowed into his knocking them into the wall.

“Sherlock!” John yelped as the taller man wrapped around him face buried in the shorter man’s shoulder.

Sherlock snuggled into his doctor. John chuckled patting the younger man lightly on the back.

“Did you miss me?”

Sherlock snorted without lifting his head. “What gave you that idea?” He asked feeling John’s arms wrap around him tightly.

“Hey, Sherlock?” John asked.

Sherlock pulled back without letting go to look the other man in the face.

“Is that my jumper?” John asked looking at the sweater hanging off of Sherlock’s shoulders.

“Not at all,” the taller man replied wrapping himself around the doctor again.

“I should come home early from the clinic more often,” John laughed with Sherlock joining


	3. Importance of Communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just lovely banter between the boys.

“Sherlock!”

“John.”

“Sherlock!”

“John…”

“Sherlock!!!”

“How many times are we going to do this back and forth?”

“Bloody Hell Sherlock!”

“That’s not my name John, it’s William Scott for the record.”

“What?”

“My full name is William Sherlock Scott Holmes.”

“What…never mind! Stop changing the subject! I’m mad at you.”

“Obviously, but ill placed.”

“Ill placed?! Sherlock! You used my favorite jumper in an experiment again! Now it’s ruined!”

“If it will make you feel better I will get you another hideous replacement.”

“Sherlock! That will not make me feel better! You are missing the point!”

“I see you might be overreacting,”

“Overreacting! Overreacting! Sherlock overreacting is when you shoot the wall when you are bored!”

“That is not overreacting John. That is exerting pent up energy.”

“So the wall deserves your pent up energy?”

“Of course, all it does all day is stand there!”

“Sherlock it’s a wall that’s what it does!”

“Well it should look to do something a little more entertaining.”

“Holding up the roof isn’t entertaining enough?”

“How normally boring!”

“You are ridiculous!”

“Oh and how you love it.”

“Love it? What…I…I…don’t!”

“John, don’t lie to me. Dilated pupils, increased heart rate, flushed skin, all point to the obvious.”

“Obvious? Obvious what?”

“That you Dr. John Hamish Watson love me.”

“L…love…you?”

“I love you too.”

“What?! No! Sherlock!”

“Too late John you said it, I love you.”

“What…were we arguing about?”

“I don’t know, something tedious most likely.”

“Sherlock?”

“Yes John,”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

**  
**


	4. Invasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is acting strange and won't tell John what is going on.

“Sherlock?” John spoke grumpily.

“Yes John,” Sherlock asked not taking his eyes off the experiment in front of him.

“Would you mind…I don’t know…GETTING OFF OF ME?!” The doctor yelled the last words.

Sherlock had been sitting on his lap for the last fifteen minutes for some reason and had yet to move or speak of his reasoning behind the invasion. John had been quietly eating breakfast when the insane man came out of nowhere and plopped down, ignoring John’s protests, and pulled a few test tubes over, moving John’s food aside.

“Yes John I would mind very much,” Sherlock replied, leaning back into John’s chest as he examined a test tube, “These chemicals are very delicate and require a very stable handling.”

“And that requires you to sit on me?” The doctor asked, glaring at the back of the other man’s head.

“You were in my spot,” Sherlock replies simply, bringing a test tube up to his eyes.

John stared at him, grinding his teeth together. Sherlock had never sat in the chair to John’s knowledge! He just moved it around a bit a few weeks ago but never had the taller man’s behind met the seat!

“How long is this going to take?” John asked knowing that arguing would lead nowhere.

The doctor got no answer as Sherlock continued to fiddle with the chemicals.

_His arse is so bony! He really should eat more!_

John really didn’t want to think about Sherlock’s arse no matter how glorious and bony it was. That train of thought lead to memories of all the times John had seen the man strutting around in a sheet barely covered, he shivered.

_I’m not gay!_

The doctor scolded himself trying to relax but his legs had started to fall asleep and were tingling unpleasantly.

“Sherlock if you don’t get off me I’m going to stand up and you’ll end up on the floor!”

The other man didn’t seem to be listening, typical.

John remained sitting for a second longer, giving Sherlock time to move. When a minute had gone by and he still hadn’t acknowledged the warning, John stood.

Sherlock gave a surprised yelp as he landed on the floor luckily he had set the test tubes down on the table only moments before.

John stood over him smirking and holding back laughter.

“I warned you and you ignored me.” He told the man on the ground before grabbing up his cold breakfast and retreating to his room.

Finishing his breakfast on his bed John was feeling a nap. Setting the empty plate on his night table, John pulled off his jumper tossing it to the floor before sliding under the covers. It didn’t take long until John was snoring lightly.

An hour or so later the sudden shift in his mattress woke John with a start. A warm arm snaked around his waist and a body plastered itself to his back.

“What’s goin’ on…what’s happening?” John asked groggily, still partially asleep.

The invader didn’t respond just borrowed further into John’s spine. Turning his head the doctor spotted raven curls over his shoulder.

“Sherlock,” John groaned rubbing an eye with the palm of his hand. “What are you doing?” He asked moving to roll over but the arm around his waist tightened stilling him.

“Sherlock, is something wrong?” The doctor asked patting the arm lightly but still didn’t get any answer. The rude awakening had slightly irritated him but the silence was aggravating.

“Damnit Sherlock, what is it?” John snapped.

Sherlock mumbled into his back.

“What?” John asked.

Sherlock again mumbled into the smaller man’s back without moving his head.

Sighing heavily and glaring over his shoulder John threw the covers off his body. Sitting up with some difficulty, John stood with Sherlock still clinging to him with both arms wrapped around his chest.

“Sherlock this is ridiculous!” John said trying to pry the locked fingers apart, it was useless. Defeated, the smaller man took a few unsteady steps forward with Sherlock’s feet dragging behind him. The weight on his back threw him off balance and John found himself falling.

The two hit the floor with a loud thud and several loud groans from John.

“Sherlock you arse,” he managed trying to catch his breath after having it knocked from him by Sherlock’s weight.

“I’m bored,” Sherlock muttered getting off of John and leaving without another word.

The man on the floor stared after him with disbelief. As the feeling passed, John pushed himself to his feet. Grumbling profanities he slammed the door shut, locked it, and threw himself into bed.

 

John didn’t leave his room until natures call and the growling of his stomach drove him downstairs. Ducking quickly into the bathroom to take care of that need, afterwards John moved into the kitchen. Making up a few sandwiches and headed for the living room he found Sherlock lying on the floor.

“What’s this?” The doctor asked, biting into a sandwich.

“Thinking,” Sherlock mumbled with his finger’s steepled under his chin and his eyes closed.

“Obviously,” John was very familiar with that particular pose, “but why on the floor?” He asked.

“Not important,” the man replied hinting he didn’t want to talk.

“Whatever, there’s a sandwich here for you.” John told him setting the plate holding the food down on the coffee table on his way to his seat. Lowering himself into his usual chair John relaxed as he worked on his sandwich.

The silence was a little much but the doctor knew that Sherlock was very particular when he was in his mind palace. So to help fill the quiet John grabbed up the book he had been trying to get through, even though Sherlock had already ruined the ending for him.

“It was the neighbor of course, any idiot could see that!”

Sighing John settled in, reading and noticing some minutes later Sherlock had been right but kept reading.

Without warning John’s book was shoved aside and Sherlock climbed on to his lap, wrapping his arms around the doctor’s neck and burying his face in the side of John’s face.

“Not again!” John growled feeling the taller man press into him closer, “Sherlock you really need to give a bloke some warning.” He told him expecting nothing from the other man and was not surprised when indeed got silence.

As Sherlock’s weight settled into him, John put his arms around the man’s waist and squeezed gently. “What is this Sherlock?” he asked still receiving nothing from him.

“Why have you been doing this?” Still nothing.

“If you needed a hug, or a cuddle, or something all you need to do is ask.” John told him rubbing the man’s back.

In that moment he didn’t feel uncomfortable or embarrassed about being this close to his flat mate. John did mentally admit he had feelings for Sherlock, more than platonic feelings. He also knew that Sherlock was ‘married to his work’ so John didn’t have any hope for a relationship hence the ‘not gay’ motto. Even in this intimate position John held no spark of hope.

Absentmindedly the doctor started stroking Sherlock’s back. “Tell me Sherlock,” he whispered, “let me know what’s going on in that magnificent brain of yours.”

Sherlock slowly pulled his face from John’s body. His eyes were wide and searching, he rested his forehead against the other man’s keeping their eyes locked together.

“What’s going on in yours?” The taller man murmured.

“I’m confused and worried,” John told him.

Sherlock’s eyes always fascinated him they were a rainbow, ever changing, and beautiful, a wonderful contrast between the dark jet of his hair and the pale of his skin.

“What are you worried about?”

“You,” the doctor answered simply.

Sherlock’s eyes blinked at him in a way that said he wasn’t expecting that as an answer. “Why are you worried about me?” He asked timidly.

John sighed, he had a list filled with answers to that particular question and fought to narrow it down. When it became too difficult he settled with just one from the list. “I am worried something is wrong and you aren’t telling me.” He finally managed.

Sherlock lips became a thin line, eyes darting about the doctor’s face. John saw the thoughts whirling behind his pupils, he couldn’t read them but he watched the gears spinning.

“There is something,” the taller man whispered slowly, each word drawn out in separated breathes. John nodded already knowing that but wanting Sherlock to speak without being pressured too much.

“It’s been circling for a while and…I…I don’t know…” His voice failed him.

John knew in that moment that something was definitely wrong. Sherlock never faded out like that! He always had something to say, always knew what to say. Smiling encouragingly the doctor willed Sherlock to speak, to rely on him, to trust him. Stilling the strokes on the taller man’s back, John rubbed small circles with his thumbs instead, a reminder that he was there for his friend.

Sherlock took a deep breath, closing his eyes tightly for a moment.

The smaller man watched his friend battling with the walls he had erected. Sherlock’s lids slid open, eyes focused once again on John. looking determined. Slowly Sherlock pulled his arms from around John’s neck and brought a hand to the doctor’s face laying it on his cheek. His other hand rest with his finger’s curled lightly into the back of John’s neck.

“I’ve been fighting with myself John,” Sherlock murmured sounding closer to his normal self.

John remained quiet watching his friend’s face though it remained expressionless.

The taller man slid his face closer, their noses pressed together, lips hovered centimeters apart, nearly brushing. Sherlock’s eyes stayed on John’s, their breath mingled.

“I don’t think I can fight anymore.”

John was frozen. He wanted nothing more than to close the distance but he held back. His walls were crumbling, there was a growing spark, that hope he had denied himself. Sherlock needed to come to him, Sherlock needed to be the one to finish the distance.

They started at each other for what felt like hours, brown melting into moon lit eyes. Both barely breathing, their warm air swirling together in the narrow space between them, the world was silent. It felt like everything had paused to wait, watching at the edge of their seats as the two friends teetered on the cliff. This was a moment in time where things could change drastically and the universe was stopping to wait.

“Don’t fight,” John whispered, the words slipped past his lips without meaning to. He held his breath praying that those two words hadn’t broken anything.

Sherlock’s breath hitched and his hand quivered on John’s cheek, the fingers on his neck pressed deeper into the skin. No other words were exchanged as the taller man crossed the tiny distance and their lips met.

The lovely pressure made John’s eyes fluttered but he kept his lids from shutting, wanting to witness this moment. Sherlock’s eyes stayed on his a second before they slid closed and he leaned more into the kiss.

Sherlock’s face opened before John as the emotion pour through their simple connection. John felt it all the need, the longing, the tenderness, and lust. It was raw and powerful. The pent up emotion was a water fall, soaking through John, washing him away. Sherlock was glowing!

Laughter and swelling happiness started building in his chest. His hands slid up Sherlock’s body cupping his face gently as they moved together. Little sounds of pleasure escaped from the taller man, the hand on John’s neck pulled sliding them even closer.

Sherlock pulled his face back, eyes still closed, mouth hanging open slightly.

John waited, his heart pounding against his ribs. Minutes went by as both men sat like statues. The seconds were dragging and the silence was starting to press in. Sherlock’s eyes opened locking instantly in John’s and his mouth shut.

A little more time went by as they merely looked at each other until Sherlock’s mouth turned into a small smile and he moved in for another kiss. This one was mingled with laughter from both men. Sherlock kissed John’s face, relishing in his laughter. Lowering his head the taller man nuzzled into his doctor’s neck, closing his eyes with pleasure. The dying laughter rumbled through both their bodies.

“John?”

“Hmmm…”

“Can we cuddle?”

John chuckle wrapping his arms around the man in his lap, “Any time you want.” He replied resting his head against Sherlock’s finally feeling complete. His insane, high-functioning sociopath flat mate who became friend and quickly morphed into something a little more was where he belonged, wrapped in the arms of one John Watson and he was never letting go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE love confessions!


	5. Peroxide Passions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BAMF John gets to kick some criminal butt and gets a little hurt, thankfully Sherlock is there to help fix up the doctor.

"John hurry up he's getting away!" Sherlock's voice drifted back to him though it was moving away and very hard to hear.

John sighed pumping his legs faster looking around for some sign of the running men he had been following.

The case had been a simple murder but Sherlock had insisted on picking up the dockworker who had committed the crime himself.

"Sherlock that is Greg's job!" John had argued but Sherlock's glare and pouting had convinced the doctor to give in. God knows why he listened to the insane sociopath.

"John, Lestrade lacks the proper abilities of an infant so forgive me for having doubts about his detective skills." Sherlock had retorted as he hailed a cab that of course magically appeared in front of them before whisking them to the Port where the chase initiated.

The sound of feet coming nearer made John slow his pace. He reached for his gun cursing when he remembered that Sherlock had somehow nicked it from him during the cab ride. As he approached the corner of a cargo container John paused listening to the feet. Calculating their progress John stuck his foot out just in time to catch the coming person unaware.

The dockworker Hank Granger flew through the air sprawling on the ground. John smiled in triumph as Sherlock around the corner coming into view.

"Excellent you got him," he said with approval.

Though it seemed Hank had a different idea. He was back on his feet fists up. "If I'm going in, I'm gonna beat someone bloody first!" The man threatened.

The other two men looked at each other.

"May I?" John asked a small smirk on his face.

Sherlock had his hands behind his back as he gave a short nod stepping back. "Be my guest," he said with a gesture accompanying a knowing smile that played on his lips.

John rolled his shoulders to loosen them then cracked his knuckles together while twisting his neck side to side, listening as the muscles sang.

"This is going to be fun," He said buzzing with anticipation.

Stepping forward John dodged the first punch that came. He returned his own left uppercut to the man's torso. Hank gasped doubling over.

John filled with disappointment. "Oh come on Hank! Don't tell me you're done already!" He cried circling around the man, "That was even my left!" John added watching as the man straightened.

"You are insane!" Hank barked throwing himself at John.

The ex-soldier let the man tackle him to the ground even let him get a few hits in. When John had a faint taste of blood on his tongue, he decided that Hank had had enough of an upper hand. Wrapping his legs around Hank's middle John threw the man to the side. Rolling with him John ended up straddling Hank giving him a solid hit to the nose breaking the soft cartilage. Blood streamed from the man's face, John flipped the man on to his stomach using one arm to pin Hank' legs while the other pinned his hands.

"That's a bit better though you wouldn't last a day in the army mate," John told Hank feeling all fight leave the man.

Sherlock took that moment to step in producing a pair of handcuffs to put around Hank's wrists. "Marvelous display John," he compliment stunning John, "Though I wouldn't have let him hit quiet so much."

The doctor touched a few tender spots on his face but nothing felt broken. "I give them a few hit to get their guard down," he informed the detective, "Then I give them my full power it ends the fight much faster but it's more fun to see them give up when they realize they're no match." He gave Sherlock a mischievous grin.

He gave the smaller man a smile. "I'm glad you're on my side," Sherlock said dryly.

John chuckled receiving a gentle pat on his back from the taller man.

Lestrade arrived minutes later. "Great you got him," he said though sounding less than grateful, "You alright John? Got you a bit I see."

John shrugged. "Nothing I can't take care of later," he assured the inspector.

"Good, why don't you two get out of here. Swing by the Yard tomorrow to give statements." Greg added turning to grab up the dockworker.

"That doesn't look good," Sherlock commented poking an open cut on John's forehead.

The doctor winced feeling a sting. "I don't need stitches but it will be painful for the next few days." He told his friend swatting the probing hand away.

They were on their way home to 221B Baker Street. The cab rider wasn't long but John was exhausted so it felt like it was dragging. He let out a sigh of relief when the car pulled up to the curb. He climbed out of the cab hurrying towards the flat leaving Sherlock to pay the fee.

Inside the flat John removed his jacket hanging it in the usual place. Moving for his room where he kept his medical kit, John grabbed it up, and made his way down the stairs to the bathroom.

"Let me help you this that," Sherlock offered before John made it.

The doctor paused looking the taller man over carefully, "You sure?" He asked watching the other glare and sigh looking slightly annoyed.

"John I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't sure," he snapped folding his arms across his chest pouting.

John smiled ignoring the attitude "Fine but let's do it on the couch for a bit of comfort plus the bathroom's too small for both of us." He agreed following Sherlock into the living room and planting himself on the couch.

The other man perched next to him opening up the kit across their laps. "I need a wet cloth," Sherlock muttered standing, heading for the kitchen. Not a moment before he was back a dripping cloth in hand. Using the cloth Sherlock wiped up now dried blood from John's face.

"Use the peroxide first," John instructed.

Sherlock pulled out a cotton ball and the small bottle of peroxide.

"Thank you by the way," John said his eyes closed while the younger man worked.

"Relax John I'm just helping out don't get sentimental," Sherlock said harshly.

John face hardened but he didn't counter. "Now get the Neosporin," he said stiffly listening as Sherlock obliged, "And put some on a band aid before sticking it on." It was a few seconds before John felt the cool touch of Sherlock's fingers pressing the thing to his head. John winced a bit hissing through his teeth.

"Apologies," Sherlock mumbled his fingers lightly stroking the band aid into place. The doctor opened his eyes Sherlock's face was inches from his own eyes fixed on his hands on the John's head.

"I thinks it's on there now," John teased staring at Sherlock's face. The detective's eyes flickered to his their breath mingled in the short distance between their faces.

"Just don't want it falling off," Sherlock breathed his eyes darted down at John's lips before returning to the shorter man's eyes.

"Any other wounds needing attention?" John whispered not wanting the spell to be broken.

Sherlock glanced at John's lips again. "Only one," he replied holding his breath. Sherlock's finger's suddenly brushed the edge of John's mouth sending little stings through his body.

"Split lip," Sherlock added a finger slowly stroking the wound.

John winced grabbing the younger man's hand. "Peroxide is about all we can do for that," he told him keeping a grip on Sherlock's hand making the man work with the other. The slight burn of the antibacterial somehow heightened John's senses, arousing him briefly.

"Better?" Sherlock asked his voice barely above a whisper.

John nodded. "Definitely won't bleed out now," he joked seeing a smile on the other man's face.

Sherlock put the stuff back in the kit setting it on the floor beside their feet but he didn't move from his spot as he looked back to John. The doctor still held the younger man's hand tightly in his own.

"John," Sherlock began but was silenced by John's mouth.

The kiss was soft and tentative John pulled away seconds later very embarrassed.

"Excuse me! I...don't know what came over me," He stammered dropping Sherlock's hand like it was on fire.

John went to move like he was leaving but Sherlock's hand flew out stilling the other man. John's face was radiating excess heat and was very red. "John," Sherlock spoke quietly his voice in a tone John had never heard.

John raised his eyes slowly to the consulting detective's expecting anger and disgust, or nothing at all. What he found was astonishing. Sherlock's eyes glowed, pupils were blown wide with intense arousal and his mouth was quivering with restraint. "Why?' He asked eyes searching the doctor's face.

John took a deep breath, he had been preparing for this conversation for many months. "I…I… have feelings for you Sherlock…more than platonic feelings." He replied Sherlock didn't react his eyes stayed on John's face.

"Aren't you always saying 'I'm not gay'?" Sherlock asked John sighed relaxing slightly.

"I'm not gay Sherlock. Never in my life have I ever felt attracted to any man but you….you…are…well…you're you." He spoke his voice shook knowing that that didn't really explain it. Sherlock was incredible yet so infuriating at the same time though John never wanted it to change.

"I feel this pull to you and your most annoying qualities I find are the ones I like the best," John said hopping it might clarify a bit.

Sherlock continued staring leaning in very slowly. John watched the other man draw closer and closer until their lips met again.

This new kiss was a test John could feel Sherlock running an experiment in his head deciding if there was a spark of interest. As the kiss deepened and Sherlock's hands found new perches on John's body it seemed the man had concluded his interest. John's heart flew, a hand finding its way into the detective's ebony curls. A vibrating moan escaped Sherlock's mouth causing John to chuckle against his mouth.

The younger man pulled away glaring. "What?" He snapped, he looked a little hurt.

John shook his head barely keeping down a laugh. "It's nothing really," he answered Sherlock narrowed his eyes causing John's laughter to escape, "Fine I just never thought I would hear that coming from you." He told the younger man.

Sherlock watched John for a moment before his face turned into a seductive smile surprising John even further. "I do make other noises as well," he growled raising an eyebrow.

John's mouth dropped open and Sherlock took to opportunity to swoop in capturing the other man's lips.

"You are insane!" John muttered between kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my good friends on the other site I post on gave me the title to this one.


	6. Love Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is sick and Sherlock plays doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know it's a very cheesy title but I was sick when I wrote it and so I can't be held responsible for cheesy titles.

The flat is quiet. I can’t hear anything, the silence pressing in on me, normally I enjoy this time. I usually drift in and out of my mind palace organizing and deleting unwanted memories but this silence is uncanny and eerie.

Why is it?

Oh yes my flat mate, the ever loyal Dr. John Hamish Watson. Where is he?

I glance towards the clock, ten and he isn’t up yet. How odd. John is a creature of habit and wakes around eight-thirty every morning but today it seems he has changed?

Unlikely…

He isn’t the type. No there is something wrong but why do I care? He isn’t up, so what? I have this time to be alone and I can do what I like without interruption. Not that that has stopped me any other time.

But that little doctor has wormed his way into my thoughts and I can’t shake the slight worry growing in my stomach. It is uncomfortable! When did I start feeling this fondness and emotion?

I am a sociopath for crying out loud!

Sigh, might as well go and check on him, hopefully he’s not dead that would be a pain.

Pulling myself from my chair is a slow process it seems I have spent the night perched in my seat and now my muscles are protesting loudly. Ignoring the irritating pain I hobble into the kitchen, the floor boards creaking under my weight. Distant coughs from the stairs tell me that the doctor is indeed still in bed.

Coughing?

Climbing the stairs my body loosens and the pain lessens into annoying throbs. John’s door is closed. Pausing at the door I contemplate retuning to the living room and leaving John to whatever he is doing. Another cough sounds from beyond the door sparking concern and curiosity in me.

Damn my curious nature!

Grabbing the doorknob I turn it knocking as I open it, “John?” I call into the dim room.

The curtains are drawn blocking most of the light from the sun though lit it enough that I can make out the body of John on his bed still wrapped tightly in a blanket.

 “John?” I try again moving into the room.

“Sherlock,” an answer comes; the voice that sounds from the bed is far from John’s usual warm sound. This noise is a cracked, scratchy whisper that sends the huddled form on the bed into a fit of coughing.

Closing in on the bed I find the doctor’s head peeking out from the covers. “What is wrong John?” I ask. I am far from an expert when it comes to other people. John, being the exception to the rule, is the only one I will even bother with and something is wrong with him.

“Sick,” he croaks from the covers.

Sick? He is a doctor, how has he gotten sick? Illness is tedious and boring, it is the only time I am truly aware of my body’s weaknesses. Sigh, how did it not know that as a vessel to my genius being sick was unacceptable? Enough…John is the one sick not me.

Reaching a hand forward I locate John’ forehead, it burns against my skin. My cool touch makes a moan escape the doctor, the sound startles me and I pull back afraid I have somehow done something not good. John makes a protesting noise.

“You’re cold,” it isn’t an insult he is talking about my hand.

“What do I do John?” I question, I need my blogger healthy even if I meant I am the one to make him healthy. “I’ve never done this before.” I confess.

“Water,” John breathes waving fingers towards an empty glass on the night stand.

Not needing any more instruction I grab up the glass and hurry down the stairs to the kitchen. With ice and water in the glass I return to John. I have to help lift the doctor’s head and hold the glass to his chapped lips while he drains it.

“Better.” John sighs, the croak greatly diminished from his voice. I go back down the stairs to fill the glass again before returning to the side of the bed. Placing the full glass on the side table I stand by watching the doctor.

“What else John?” I need to know. I feel so helpless! Is there nothing I can give him to speed this process up?

John rolls over to face me, he shivers under the covers. “Soup would be nice but don’t worry about it.” He replies but I am already out the bedroom door and down the stairs.

Soup, where would soup be? Checking the cupboards I come up with nothing that even resembles soup. Mrs. Hudson might have some, she went shopping yesterday.

I dash through the flat and down the stairs. I don’t bother knocking when I come to the landlady’s door. I know this place and go straight for the kitchen. Searching through the food pantry and cupboards I don’t hear Mrs. Hudson enter.

“Sherlock! What on Earth are you doing?” She chides but doesn’t attempt to stop me.

Good old Mrs. Hudson!

“Isn’t it obvious?” I ask her pushing stacks of cans aside as I look for soup.

“No dear,”

“I’m hunting for soup Mrs. Hudson. We have nothing close to soup upstairs,” was my irritated response. Mrs. Hudson draws closer and goes over to the furthest cupboard from me and open it up, gesturing to the cans within.

“Why soup? Is it an experiment?”

I withheld my frustration. She of course didn’t know John was sick but that fact didn’t stop me from feeling irritated. “John has come down with an illness and he said soup is nice.” I told her searching over the cans.

“Oh Sherlock! That’s lovely of you, just let me know if there is anything I can do and tell John to get better soon.” The elderly woman said leaving me to my hunt.

Chicken noddle, was that good for sick people? Had I heard that somewhere? Whatever, it will do, grabbing out a few cans of the soup I quickly yelled my thanks to Mrs. Hudson before racing back upstairs.

**Remove soup contents from can into a small pan,**

Alright done, next?

**Heat to a boil stirring frequently** ,

Frequently? How frequently? Bloody can! Why can’t you be a little more specific in your cooking instructions!

Reading the label of the soup was a waste of my time. In the end, the task seemed a little simpler then I initially thought. With the soup steaming and in a bowl, I climbed the stairs back to John’s room.

John looked to be dozing but stirred when I entered. He stared at me with complete shock on his face “You made me soup?” he asked I glared huffing in his direction.

“There is a bowl of soup in my hands John! Of course I made it! Even a small brain like yours can figure that one out” I didn’t mean to snap but it was my natural response.

John smiled at me and began pushing himself up, groaned against the headboard from the effort. Setting the bowl in his lap, I watched as he attempted to eat. His hands were shaking and he seemed to be having trouble gripping the spoon.

After several tries I made a decision. Stepping over John’s legs, I plopped myself on the bed beside him “Here let me,” I offered taking up the soup bowl and proceeded to feed the doctor.

He gaped at me but opened his mouth as I held up the spoon.

When the bowl was empty I set it next to the glass on the side table and settled back against the headboard. John stared over at me and continued to do so for some time. I ignored him, bringing my fingers up and steepled them pretending to go to my mind palace but it became obvious that he was thinking and loudly.

Dropping my hands I turned to look at him. He was definitely thinking and rather hard about it. Scanning him I deduced he was uncomfortable (stiff posture, slightly leaning away from me), conflicted with what he was feeling (biting his lip), it had to do with me (staring at me), but illness was making thinking difficult (the frown and narrowing of his eyes).

I huffed watching the thoughts die in his eyes with my noise. “Stop thinking John. You’re sick just lay down and relax.” Without really thinking I grabbed him gently by the back of his neck and pulled him until his head was cradled in my lap. John’s tensed (uncomfortable) so I began running my fingers through his hair hoping that would help him settle.

After a few minutes it did. John sighed and his body sank into mine. The heat from his forehead scorched my thigh and his hair was slightly sweaty from fever but I didn’t mind. The weight of John against me was surprisingly soothing. I could feel his heart beat and his breathing. I felt a part of the doctor and it was thrilling. I had never felt a part of another person.

Wait! Slow down! Where had that come from? John was my friend and flat mate! Plus he always stated ‘I’m not gay’ and another thing I am married to my work! I don’t need any distractions!

Was John a distraction and wasn’t he a part of the _work_?

I faltered.

John was indeed a part of the work. He was my blogger and companion. How many times had he helped solve a case (not that I would admit that out loud)? How many times had he saved me? Countless times…

My hand was now moving on autopilot through John’s hair and his breathing had slowed announcing he had succumbed to sleep. My mind drifted to the palace.

Walking the elegant halls I navigated my way to the John room. It was a library with books filled with John information, here and there were frozen moments of memory. Still copies of John stood in varies places, him laughing and smiling, angry and yelling. It was mine own wax museum of John.

Just seeing the memory fragments something stirred in the pit of my stomach. What was that? Am I sick as well?

Doubtful.

I pushed those thoughts away as I scanned the room. This was the part of my palace I visited often it was a comfortable and a warm escape from boredom. Why was that? Never in my life had I ever found this peace that I felt with John. What was I feeling?

John was my friend, my first real friend. Sure I had Lestrade, Molly, Mycroft, and Mrs. Hudson but none of them had ever gotten as close to me as John had. Lestrade was a good man who had potential (another thing I would never say aloud) but he was a friend at a distance as was Molly. Mrs. Hudson was a motherly figure and Mycroft…where could I start with my dear brother? Why bother.

John, John on the other hand. How to begin with John?

When I first saw him at Bart’s he had been any other man but he quickly became an exquisite human being, one which I had never had the pleasure of meeting before. He had killed a man for me not even twenty-four hours after meeting me! He was special but what did I feel for him?

I needed to start with a physical aspect.

Just smelling John’s natural scent (freshly baked bread and book leather) increased my heart rate but so did most things the man did. Hearing his voice, his laugh, seeing him smile, watching him make tea and read those stupid crime novels. John was a river of interest and I never tired of watching the man whatever he was doing. Whenever I entered a room my eyes went automatically to John to note his reaction. My body grew cold with fear if I ever thought about John leaving.

So my body had a physically response to the man, now for an emotional aspect.

I had begun monitoring my words, not wanting to upset the blogger with my outright insults. I wanted John to be happy so I went out of my way to make him laugh. When he had nightmares I would play my violin because I knew that would calm him down. When his fingers brushed my skin I felt a thrill go through me. On cases when John blurted out compliments, his praise made me giddy (yes giddy)!

So emotional response was strong,

John accepted me full-heartedly and didn’t think so me as a freak or abnormal. He did think of me as an emotionless machine at times but he somehow still understood me better than anyone ever had.

Sounds like love.

Wait…what?! Love? I scoffed but became confused.

Love.

That word seemed to be the only thing that fit, that felt remotely right. I love John. Wow those words felt weird! I love John? I love John…

Brotherly love?

I doubt most family members wanted to snog each other senseless so I would go with the latter. I loved John as a lover, a partner, a boyfriend? How juvenile! Partner, I love John as a partner.

I snapped out of my mind palace almost without warning. John was still asleep in my lap and my hand continued through John’s hair. I watched over him a tightness creeping into my chest, had that been there before? What would I do now? I wouldn’t become some uni girl pinning after some guy. Well John wasn’t some guy! He was John, sweet, gentle, understanding John.

And not gay…

Sigh human error. This was another moment I would classify as a time I became aware of my body’s weaknesses.

John wasn’t a _weakness_!

This was true I never felt safer until I met John. He was the human side of me and I couldn’t fight it.

“Sher…lock…” John mumbled in his sleep snuggling deeper into my lap. I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. Leaning over I kissed his head lightly, taking in a deep breath inhaling the John scent. No John wasn’t a weakness nor a distraction he was a part of me and no matter what I would keep my better half safe and happy.

 

“Sherlock?”

The croaking voice of John’s woke me. I hadn’t even realized I had fallen asleep. I even felt refreshed as I opened my eyes. John’s head was still in my lap and he had rolled to look up at me, the room was darker indicating that it was most likely evening. In the dimness I could barely make out John’s face.

Suddenly warm fingers touched my face, uncertainty etched into the touch “How are you feeling?” I asked leaning into the touch slightly. John hummed in my lap, the sound vibrating through me. The fingers disappeared leaving warm patches on my face.

“I’m hungry,” he mused the croak in his voice was better.

I smiled in the darkness “Then budge up and let me go get something for you to eat,” I said shifting my legs. John giggled and sat up, his hair brushed against my face.

I hurried through making the soup reusing both the pan and bowl from earlier (what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him). Once again I feed John and settled on the bed with John in my lap without any prodding though the light on the night stand had been turned on.

The yellowish light showed that John’s natural tan was gone replaced by paleness from being sick. I touched his cheek “I prefer the tan,” I told him. He was looking up at me with a small smile.

“I can’t help getting sick.” John murmured.

I trailed my fingers to his forehead and laid my palm against the skin. John closed his eyes clearly enjoying my cool skin “You’re not as warm,” I spoke quietly moving my hand to slide it through his hair.

“My fever broke while you were sleeping,” John said opening his eyes again. I watched the emotions playing through his pupils. I realized seeing the filtering emotions that John was struggling with something. I had noticed it earlier but seeing it again before me I couldn’t help but deduce the look.

Dilated eyes (strong physically reaction), increased heart rate (nervous, not uncomfortable), relaxed form and flushed skin (though that could be from the illness). I didn’t know I couldn’t figure it out. “John what are you thinking?”

John looked me over slowly his body tensing against mine as he prepared his answer “I’m curious about you Sherlock,” that didn’t surprise me, “I’ve lived with you long enough to think I know you but then you do something like this,” he gestured to particular arrangement, “it’s so uncharacteristic! It makes me think I don’t know you at all.”

I considered his words thinking about how to respond. Why not try honesty? I’m usually painfully honest but not when it was my emotions. I swallowed against the lump in my throat.

“John,” his name on my lips was delicious. John locked his eyes on mine, “You are the only one who knows me, the real me. No one has ever been closer than you.” The pale sick look of John’s skin brightened as it tinted red, “I’m not one for emotions. I keep them in check and hide them away but you see them unlike anyone else. You understand and accept me even when I am difficult. You are the only one who has never left…”

“I’ve done a lot of thinking and I think I understand now…I think I know what I am feeling.” John seemed to hold his breath watching me speak, “You are a part of me John. You being sick I feel lost and helpless, I’ve never felt like this. A simple touch from you and I feel a burst of energy, seeing you smile I want to keep you smiling, hearing your laugh I want to keep making you laugh. It’s thrilling knowing I have made you happy for at least a moment.” The look on John’s face was glorious his eyes were wide with disbelief and…hope?

“I want to keep you safe, happy, and healthy.” I’m nervous, why am I nervous? Would John refuse me? Would he want to just stay friends or would he leave? No…?

John pushed himself up, turning his whole body towards me. He didn’t touch me and I didn’t touch him. John hovered in front of me eyes seeking. Slowly John’s hand came up cupping my cheek I shivered with the simple touch. It was undeniable I truly and absolutely loved this man with every part of my being.

Surging forward I kissed him.

Our lips joined for a moment before John jerked back “Sherlock!” he gasped and for a moment I thought I had ruined everything, “You’re going to get sick doing that.” Those words excited me. John hadn’t rejected me and he even held concern for my well-being.

“I don’t care,” I told him moving forward again to kiss him lightly.

The kiss stole the air from my lungs and it seemed John’s as well when he moved back in a fit of coughing. “Sorry,” I mumbled stretching behind him for the glass of water.

John took it gratefully “Its fine,” he assured lacing our fingers together. Setting the glass on the side table again, he returned to lay on my lap looking up at me. He smiled chuckling quietly.

“What?” I asked curious about his thoughts, stroking my thumb slowly over his skin.

John reached up his free hand brushing hair from my face “If I had known this was going to happen I would have gotten sick sooner.” I chuckled kissing him on the forehead.

“Now that it has my dear doctor,” I told him, “you’re not allowed to get sick again.” John laughed and it made my smile grow on my face finally feeling like a complete human being with my hand connected with that of my blogger’s.


	7. Love Sick Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After John recovers from his own sickness, it's now Sherlock's turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a request to make a second part and well sick Sherlock was born.

“JJJJAAAWWWNNN!!!!”

I withheld the laughter at the pitiful nasally yell “Yeah I coming, hold up!” I called from the kitchen.

Sherlock was sick (surprise) and it was up to me to deal with it. I had warned him and now looked where we had ended up. I thought of him as a five year old before, it now had escalated tenfold. Sherlock was rather terrible with illness.

It had surprised me when just the week before Sherlock had morphed into the most caring person I had ever seen. I had been sick myself, instead of shutting down and leaving me alone Sherlock had taken the reins in getting me healthy. Not only had he done that but Sherlock had finally come to terms with how he felt about me!

“Jawn!” came the voice again, sounding desperate.

I rolled my eyes smiling as I grabbed up the mugs with fresh tea and hiked up to my room where Sherlock had taken refuge. I moved through my bedroom into the steamy bathroom.

“You were the one who insisted I take a bath then you leave me!” Sherlock snapped though the words were a little muddled by the congestion built up in the skinny man’s chest. Sherlock lay mostly submerged in the tub with a small inflatable bath pillow supporting his head above the water.

I held up the mugs in surrender “Tea is good when you’re sick,” I offered setting the cups on the sink counter and looking at the pale man in my tub.

He was naked though that was typical for someone in a tub full of water but this someone was Sherlock bloody Holmes!

My love, my newly revealed lover.

 Before my illness I held back hidden feelings for my flat mate but the first day I’m sick and seeing Sherlock’s reaction intensified those feelings. Luckily for me Sherlock had his own feelings that he had yet to realize. Now here we were in a new relationship and I was looking forward to our future together.

“Stop staring at me!” Sherlock snapped though his voice sounded amused.

I rolled my eyes tearing them from the magnificent body barley obscured by the water “Drink some tea,” I urged grabbing one of the cups.

Sherlock frowned, batting his eye lashes at me wanting to protest but I wouldn’t give. Doctor mode was in full gear and I was a little stronger during this time and able to resist Sherlock.

“Fine,” the man growled taking the cup and bringing it to his lips, “thank you.” I heard him muttered before taking a drink. Smiling I leaned in and kissed his brow as a sort of reward.

Kneeling down beside the tub I grabbed up the cup that was floating nearby and filled it with water. Bringing the cup up I poured it slowly over Sherlock’s exposed chest, drenching it in steaming water. Sherlock sighed closing his eyes and letting a small smile stretch across his face.

I chuckled as I watched this reaction “Like that?” I asked as I did it again.

Sherlock purred shifting lower into the tub “I should be sick more often.”

“And why is that?” I asked repeatedly pouring water over his chest.

Sherlock cracked an eye at me “I like when you take care of me.”

I snorted flicking water at his face “I always take care of you, you over grown toddler!”

Sherlock glared half-heartedly then began pouting. I laughed flicking more water at him “If you don’t stop that I’m not going to wash your hair.” I threatened watching as he perked up.

For some odd reason Sherlock loved it when I washed his hair. I had noticed over the months that Sherlock had a sensitive scalp with brief touches when he had gotten himself injured during cases. The first few days of our relationship we had ended up in the shower together (not what you think!) and I washed his hair.

The moment my fingers ran through those luscious curls the man had collapsed into me, boneless. Eventually I had to lower him to the shower floor to finish washing his hair, laughing the entire time. Now any time his head was at the right level I took the opportunity to touch those raven curls and watch him crumple into a beautiful mess.

Sherlock looked longing at me with wide eyes “Please,” he breathed and I chuckled at the whimpering request.

“Sit up,” I said pushing myself higher on my knees.

Sherlock scrambled to sit up and sliding closer to me, angling his head for easier access, shaking my head I reached for the shampoo behind him. Pouring a generous amount in to my hands I began rubbing into his hair. Within seconds he slumped into my chest instantly soaking my shirt. Snorting I kept slowly kneading my hands into his scalp.

“That…feels…good!” Sherlock hummed nuzzling his face into my wet shirt. Soggy fingers drifted under my shirt dotting my stomach with wet trails as the hand started roaming.

My breath hitched and my fingers jerked with the new invasion “Sherlock…” I gasped as the fingers moved further and further up my chest. Sherlock purred against me, his nose digging into me and inhaling deeply.

I pulled my hands from him getting loud cries of protest. The sick man’s head titled up to look at me with questioning eyes. I gave him a stern look “If you’re not going to play fair I’m not going to wash your hair.” I warned.

“You already used that threat,” Sherlock pointed out, “not very intimidating the second time.”

I narrowed my eyes “I’ll make you go sleep in your own bed alone,” I told him, “how’s that for a threat?”

Sherlock frowned shaking his head smiling at my attempt “I know you better than that John and there is nothing that you can say that will scare me.”

I glared thinking quickly before a smile spread across my face. It wasn’t my usual easy-going smile but a wicked one that spoke of dastardly thoughts.  Sherlock’s face fell and I forced back my triumph at the reaction knowing that the man was trying to deduce my thoughts.

“John,” Sherlock stammered.

I leaned closer to his face, ours noses touching “If you don’t play nice William Sherlock Scott Holmes,” I paused letting his full name hang in the air, “I will put conditioner in your hair and not wash it out.”

Sherlock’s eye widened and his mouth fell open.

I had learned that the one thing Sherlock hated the most in the world was conditioner that hadn’t been washed out of his hair.

His mouth opened and closed several times, his hands slid slowly away from me. Grinning I brought my hands back to his hair and began working the suds into his scalp.

“You are cruel doctor,” Sherlock finally murmured his face relaxing and his eyes falling shut.

Chuckling I kissed his cheek “And you love it,” I said receiving a lazy smile.

When Sherlock’s head was nothing but suds I told him to move down. He obeyed, lowering his head into the water keeping his face above the surface. I slowly rubbed the shampoo from his hair filling the water with soap.  

“Can I get out now or do you wish to manhandle me some more?” Sherlock asked irritated once he was up right, “I already washed myself while you were wasting time in the kitchen.”

I rolled my eyes at him and pushed myself to my feet. My knees popped loudly and the muscles in my calves protested, I groaned with pain “I’m getting too old for this,” I muttered rubbing the soreness, “Yes, you can get out my big baby and I wasn’t manhandling you!” I added grabbing up a towel from the rack and holding it out for him.

Sherlock stood and I politely looked away as he took the towel.

“I hope you won’t do that every time I’m naked around you,” the taller man said as he dried himself with the towel. I glanced at him noting the slow way he rubbed the towel on his skin. He was doing it on purpose!

Feeling heat in my face I turned to go to the bedroom “Sherlock you are sick!” I told him over my shoulder mostly trying to remind myself.

The key was to get Sherlock healthy and extra-curricular activities wouldn’t help. I was resisting the urge to snog Sherlock senseless and other things of course but I was a doctor! My lover’s health was more important than his libido! Or mine!

I needed to concentrate on getting Sherlock some pants and then getting him in to bed (not like that!) so that he would maybe get some sleep. Lord knows the man doesn’t get enough.

Grabbing a clean pair of Sherlock’s pants from my drawer I headed back to the bathroom. So not only had Sherlock invaded my room but he had snuck up several pairs of clothes and added them to my drawers. It was nice so I wouldn’t have to go downstairs to get him fresh things but on the other hand it annoyed me that he didn’t ask (not that he normally would).

“Here put those on and get to bed.” I instructed throwing in my captains voice so there was no room for argument.

Sherlock smiled fondly at me, dropped the towel to the ground and took the underwear from me. I held my eyes firmly to his face for a second longer before turning back to the bedroom. He could play his games but I wouldn’t allow myself to fall for them (hopefully).

I checked for water on the nightstand (three water bottles) and climbed on to the bed feeling my own exhaustion getting the better of me. I lay back against the headrest and yawned. Stretching my arms above my head I felt the cracking of my joints and muscles and hummed as I relaxed into the bed.

I sat dozing until the jarring of a new weight on the mattress announced the arrival of the other man. Cracking an eye I found Sherlock’s face rather close to mine. He smiled and leaned in enough to brush his lips against mine “Aren’t I the one who is supposed to be sleeping?” he teased.

A week ago this playful side of Sherlock would have stunned me and at times it still did but I was too tired to respond too much.

“You are,” I replied, “but you won’t.” and I knew it was true. Sherlock would go weeks without proper sleep until he was nearly dead with exhaustion and that wouldn’t change just because of illness.

Sherlock winked at me before pressing firmly into my lips, giving me a proper kiss. I had to pull back just to keep things from getting too heated barely remembering Sherlock needed to be healthy before we got too physical.

Lacing a hand through Sherlock’s hair as we kissed I jerked his face from mine “Lay down and get some sleep so you can get better.” I commanded with a growl, kissing him once more and letting go of his hair.

Sherlock chuckled as he pushed me to lie down. When I has horizontal He laid his head on my shoulder and wrapped his arms around my chest. Sherlock tangled our legs together, nuzzling closer to my body. Chuckling at the man’s antics I pulled my arm around him and started stroking my back slowly hoping to lull him to sleep.

As we sat in the content silence I noticed Sherlock’s warm forehead pressed to my chest. Using my free hand I touched his skin feeling the radiating heat coming from it. “You have a fever,” I muttered lowering my hand to stroke his cheek.

Sherlock made a whining noise, kissing my chest “Heat from the bath water,” he tried but I knew the difference.

“You need to sleep,” I urged, yawning.

Sherlock rolled his head to look at me, his chin resting on my chest. I could see the fever in his eyes. “You need to sleep as well.” He pointed out sticking out his tongue.

I smiled brushing some hair from his face marveled that I could actually do that. “I’ll sleep if you sleep.” I offered knowing exactly what his next words would be.

“You’ll fall asleep regardless.” I stunned myself at how well I knew my flat mate as the words came out of his mouth.

I shrugged “So it’s a win, win situation.”

Sherlock frowned “No, I don’t want to go to sleep.” He was stubborn I’ll give him that.

“And why not?”

“I might miss out.”

I blinked at him unsure of what he was saying “Miss out on what?” I asked curious what Sherlock was thinking.

The taller man stared hard at me, I knew he was committing my face to memory so what he was about to say was important to him.

“On you…”

I didn’t know how to respond to those words. I know that Sherlock had never had anyone close to him and being in a relationship with me was new, even our friendship from the start was a blimp for Sherlock. Those words coming from that man’s mouth was incredible and I couldn’t find the right thing to say.

So I didn’t speak. Leaning forward I kissed him deeply. I tried to pour all my love for him into the simple yet not so simple gesture. Sherlock needed to understand in any way I could show him that I wouldn’t leave him, that what we have isn’t easily broken, and that he had become my whole world. This kiss was the start to how I could show him.

Letting the kiss last several minutes I reluctantly pulled away pressing my forehead to the Sherlock’s feverish one. We were panting slightly from the intensity of the kiss and I even had my eyes closed holding on to the feeling the touch had given me.

When our breathing slowed I opened my eyes, locking on to the ever color changing orbs. “Sherlock,” I smiled. He was so…human at times when before he was closer to a robot, “I’m not going anywhere without you, never, ever again.” I promised hoping that I wouldn’t have to break that vow.

Sherlock watched me a smile slowly stretching across his face “I love you John Watson.” He finally said.

My face was starting to hurt from how wide my smile was, a bubbling excitement in my chest was threatening to boil over. “I love you too Sherlock Holmes.”

We looked at each a few seconds longer. The first declaration of love and it was perfect. Soon we drifted off to sleep together, wrapped tightly around one another and absolutely content. This was the moment, this was the time we were truly one.


	8. Realizing Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John realizes just how much Sherlock means to him and it might be too late.

_Here we go again!_

Dr. John Watson sighed watching the murderer sprint off, “Why do they always run?” he moaned pulling out his gun as he raced after the man.

_We’re not even supposed to be here!_

John groaned seeing the murderer hurry around a corner ahead of him.

_Sherlock is such an idiot!_

Sherlock bloody Holmes and his stupid need to show off! They would be hearing from Greg Lestrade later yet again for taking police matters into their own hands. How on earth did Sherlock always rope John into chasing the baddies?

_Oh yes I’m a danger junkie and I need my fix!_

It was true. John loved running after the criminals of London and he wouldn’t be changing any time soon. He loved the mundane at times but too much and he was half tempted to shot the walls. John smirked, wouldn’t Sherlock be proud! He is such a bad influence.

_Where is Sherlock?_

Sherlock and John had split up when they reached the warehouse where the murder had been hiding. The place was filled with boxes stacked together to tower dangerously and it would have taken too long to find their suspect so it was logical to separate and search. John hated it! If Sherlock was alone John couldn’t protect him.

_He is lost without his blogger!_

John mused turning the corner where the murderer had gone. The man had disappeared! Shit, well what now? John slowed to a jog glancing in between boxes and crates. The place was a maze with way too many places to hide. John held his gun up alert for anything, solider mode was fully engaged.

Coming up on a corner John paused before looking around. A loud bang as a gun fired and bit of wood from a box near his head made him jerk back. Taking in a deep breath John brought his gun around and fired off a few shoots. The murder answered, he was terrible shot, John gladly noted. Sliding forward he managed another look. A black heel was all he saw as the fleeing man took off again.

Giving a growl John pushed forward not wanting the man to get too far away. Making it over to where his target has been, the doctor just caught sight of the man going around another corner. “Bastard,” John muttered tiring of this chase. Next chance he got he was just going to shoot the murderer.

Hurrying to the latest corner, John was happy to see that he had entered a long straight passage. The murderer was running just ahead and making slow progress. The running man wasn’t fast so the doctor knew that this was his chance in catching him. John started sprinting, pushing his short legs harder. As he drew closer he prepared himself knowing a flying tackle was about to happen.

Inches from the murderer John launched himself forward colliding with the man just as a gunshot was fired. Landing heavily on the ground, John began struggling with the killer. Surprisingly the man was a little strong and agile, he was able to roll and pin John under him.

The doctor brought his arms up to block some of the hits but still felt his lip split when a blow jarred his teeth. Ignoring the pain John surprised the murderer by bucking his hips, throwing his attacker off balance. Taking the opportunity the ex-solider rolled dislodging the other man. Pushing away from him, John got to his feet. The murderer was already there and searching for the forgotten guns.

John pressed forward grabbing the other man’s attention. The doctor dodged the first punch and landing his own on the man’s chin. The attacker was a little skilled and quickly recovered with a kick to the shine catching John off guard which was followed by a hit to the side of the head. Being forced back, panting, John shock his head to rid himself of his blurred vision.

When the world was clear once again, John locked on the murderer and approached again quickly. As the man threw a punch John slid sideways grabbing the arm that went by. Holding the offending arm tightly John spun, pushing his body into the murderer’s. Jerking his elbow back breaking the killer’s nose and spurting blood all over the place, spinning again John jerked the arm around and flipped the other man to the ground, throwing his own weight down on top.

The murderer gasped for air until John found his gun and hit him in the temple, knocking the man unconscious. Panting from exertion John managed to find the zip ties he kept in his pocket and tied the murderer’s hands together. Looking down at the criminal John smiled which pulled on his sore lip “Ouch,” he murmured touching the spot.

Dragging his eyes from the fallen man John called “Sherlock!” tucking his gun into his waist band and  turning from the unconscious murderer as he went to look for the missing detective.

A dark crumpled form at the end of the passage stopped John. The unmoving figure was horrifyingly familiar and the distant thumping of John’s heart echoed in his ears. He was frozen in disbelief. The gunshot the murderer had gotten off as John tackled him came to mind.

“Sherlock!” John screamed racing forward.

Sliding to his knees next to Sherlock’s still body, John yanked him over. The pale man had blood on his face and his eyes were closed but he was breathing. John’s mind was whirling, yelling at the doctor that his friend was still alive. His heart ached and tears were flowing down his face.

“Sherlock wake up! Please wake up! Please don’t be dead!” he was saying over and over again.

The still man didn’t respond and John buried his face in the man’s chest. Whispering and sobbing “Don’t be dead, don’t be dead!” The soft beat of Sherlock’s heart was the only thing keeping John stable at the moment and he hugged his friend closer so he wouldn’t miss the comforting noise.

Past memories of war flooded to John’s mind. The smell of blood and heat boiled in the air around the doctor. Broken and dying men, ones that John had tried and failed to save rushed through his mind. He remembered them each by name, dozens and dozens of men and women, even children. Dust and wind stinking of blood, it was a waking nightmare and not one that he could escape from.

“John…” Sherlock’s broken voice finally sounded.

John’s face was now dry and his heart skipped a beat upon hearing the voice. Jerking his head up from his friend’s chest, the doctor looked into the unfocused eyes of Sherlock. There was a definite concussion haze lingering in the younger man’s eyes but John was just relieved that he was alive!

“Sherlock!” John cried tightening his hold on the other man, “Thank God you’re alive!”

Sherlock winced slightly a hand coming up to touch his forehead gingerly. “My head hurts,” he whined.

John let out a nervous chuckle, his nerves still vibrating from his scare. “A shot to the head will do that to you,” as the words left his mouth he once again froze.

The bullet grazed Sherlock’s head, one little centimeter and Sherlock wouldn’t be here! He wouldn’t be breathing! Sherlock had almost died, it wasn’t the first time but it was damn near the closest the genius had come to being six feet under! John felt his chest tighten. He had almost lost Sherlock…Sherlock would have been gone…

“John,” Sherlock’s voice brought the older man from his thoughts. Cool fingers probed the doctor’s face, touching the split lip slightly.

John hissed through his teeth at the twinge of pain. “You are hurt,” Sherlock stated his brows knitted together staring tensely at the other man.

John slowly released his grip on Sherlock “You are hurt worse,” the doctor pointed out leaning closer to examine the blood covered wound just above Sherlock’s ear.

It was hard to see but he could tell that it wasn’t bleeding anymore and wasn’t very deep.. John suspected that the concussion had come from when Sherlock had hit the floor face first so mice little bruise on the taller man’s forehead would be visible later.

“You were crying.” Sherlock stated a finger touching John’s cheek.

The words were slow and it almost sounded like a question. The concussion had morphed the genius into somewhat of a normal person it seemed.

Taking his eyes away from the wound John found Sherlock’s. The doctor’s heart slowed “I thought you were dead,” his voice came out in a broken whisper.

Sherlock’s eyes widened, various unreadable things flashed through the orbs. “John, I…” a loud crashing sound behind them announced Lestrade’s arrival.

Slowly standing John’s legs protested but he ignored it while he helped Sherlock stand. Sliding an arm under Sherlock’s the doctor supported the unsteady man. Greg, followed by a squad of men rushed towards them.

“Why am I not surprised?” the D.I. shouted looking irritated.

John still felt the remnants of shock and couldn’t manage a smile but Sherlock even with a concussion couldn’t remain quiet “Garth, took your time getting here!” his voice snapped as he leaned against John.

Greg glared, letting out a heavy sigh “It’s Greg and what happened to you?” he asked looking the two over.

“I got shot,” Sherlock answered before glancing over at John, “and he beat up a murderer.”

Lestrade’s eyes widened and his mouth opened “God are you two alright?” he questioned moving closer.

Sherlock glared at the D.I. “It’s nothing John can’t handle now we are going home and we will stop by the Yard tomorrow for your ridiculous statements.” With that the taller man forced John to walk.

The doctor was vaguely aware they were moving again. He was stuck on the potential of Sherlock’s death. John felt nauseous just thinking about it. he started feeling lost and disconnected, his emotions were swirling uncontrollable, dragging him slowly down.

Sherlock was the only thing that made John’s life worth anything. Running around London with his friend had been the thing that kept the ex-soldier from taking the coward’s way out. If John hadn’t met Sherlock when he did, God only knows what would have happened.

Sherlock seemed to understand for once that John needed this time to be silent. The taller man just led them to the street to catch a cab. Without much effort a taxi arrived and John was forced into the back.

“You two alright?” the cabbie asked looking more suspicious than concerned.

Sherlock glared “I’ll pay you double just get us to Baker Street.” He snapped.

The driver huffed but turned back to the wheel and drove off.

They really did look awful. Sherlock had blood dried on his face and splattered all over the once crisp white of his shirt with darkened spots on his scarf. While John had blood as well on him but it was the bruises forming on his face that made everything seem worse.

Sherlock still let John keep his arm around him as they rode in silence. The warmth of the doctor’s body pressed next to him was comforting. Sherlock watched the smaller man reading the shock still etched into his face. John had been through much already in his life and Sherlock almost getting killed shouldn’t have been too shocking, right?

This was a sentiment thing, Sherlock concluded. John was thinking over the prospect of Sherlock dying and it didn’t seem to be sitting well. The genius didn’t see why the doctor would care so much if he had indeed died. They had seen hundreds of dead bodies so death wasn’t a new thing, why was Sherlock any different?

Sherlock’s mind was running rather thick at the moment but that seemed to fit. John is a very affectionate person, caring and gentle so it is only fair to say that he would find Sherlock’s death a bit not good. The consulting detective cursed the concussion that not only would take him out of commission for a few days but was now causing a steady throbbing headache.

“Headache?” John asked suddenly, his voice in doctor mode.

Sherlock looked to the doctor finding him very close and eyes locked on him. “Yes,” the taller man answered. He had lived with John long enough to know the man fairly well but they hadn’t spent much time within close proximity and the difference was rather dramatic.

Sherlock could see wrinkles and faint freckles that weren’t visible without being this close. The blue of his eyes was much deeper than any ocean almost grey almost like a storm but not dark enough. The slight stubble of a poor shave shadowed his upper lip giving him a slight fuzzy look.

John reached out with his free hand and brushed a few of Sherlock’s curls from his face as if the gesture was natural. Sherlock’s eyes widened slightly with surprised and held his breath. What was this? Why was his friend doing this? It was almost intimate, more for a lover than a flat mate.

“We’ll get you something when we get home.” He assured a small sad smile on his lips.

Sherlock eyes weren’t right still, the concussion was not severe but it would need a few days of down time to heal. The genius was already acting different and that was another indication of a concussion.

The doctor would do everything within his power to keep the other man from prolonging his injury. John was already thinking of what he would need to do when they reached the flat.

Five minutes went by before the cab stopped. Sherlock paid the cabbie double as promised before the two men climbed out and hurried to 221B.

John didn’t drop his arm from Sherlock until he had the tall man sat on the toilet in the bathroom. “Let me get you cleaned up a bit,” John told his friend pulling the man’s coat off along with the blood stained scarf. Sherlock nodded watching the doctor leave.

John hung the coat and scarf along with his own then returned to the bathroom. Rolling up his sleeves John found a washcloth which he ran under water to get wet before he began to clean the blood from Sherlock’s face.

“It’s not that deep,” John assured when the wound was uncovered, it was barely two inches long just over the right ear. “I don’t think it will leave a scar.”

Sherlock smiled, his eyes held a far off look “Like it never happened.”

John lower the cloth “I wish it hadn’t.” he mumbled before turning and heading up to his room where he grabbed his medical kit.

Back in the bathroom, John bandaged the graze and gave Sherlock something for his headache. “These will make you a bit tired,” he warned when the man took the pills.

“I could use some sleep.” Sherlock said and his eyes indeed looked close to closing on their own.

John’s brows shot up “Really? You’re agreeing to sleep?”

Sherlock shrugged “If the medicine is going to make me drowsy anyway and we solved the case.” He replied lazily.

John smirked turning to look in the mirror to clean up his own injuries. “Here let me do that,” Sherlock suddenly offered stretching out a hand to take the cloth in the doctor’s hand.

He turned to stare at Sherlock in shock “What?”

Sherlock hummed impatiently tugging the cloth from John’s hand “Let me clean you up a bit,” he said grabbing the other man and pulling him closer. John kneeled before Sherlock so he wouldn’t have to reach and let him wash the blood off.

“It’s not your blood,” the supposed genius stated.

John nodded. “I broke the bloke’s nose, got his blood all over me.” He told him.

Sherlock’s face was very close to John’s, his eyes focusing on the cloth as it moved around. The tall man got all of the blood he could see off then moved to John’s split lip.

John jerked back hissing, “Ouch.”

Sherlock suppressed a grin, “Hurts?”

“Great deduction genius,” John muttered letting Sherlock clean his lip, wincing a little.

“Thank you,” Sherlock said when he had finished sounding serious.

The doctor rose an eyebrow at the sitting man, “You’re welcome?”

He was unsure what Sherlock was thanking him for and his friend wasn’t looking like he was going to elaborate either.

Sherlock smiled sitting back against the porcelain, “What now doctor?” he asked and it sounded very seductive.

John stared hard at the genius trying to deduce him. It was a rather weak attempt and yielded nothing. “Bed I think,” he answered getting slowly to his feet. The muscles in his legs screamed and locked making John fall forward. Banging his knees in to the toilet lid John cried out but was caught by Sherlock.

“You alright?” the other man asked his arms wrapped around his friend.

John nodded rubbing his now painful knees “Just getting old.”

Sherlock glared “You are not old John Watson!” The force of the words was surprising.

John blinked at the harshness, “Older than you,” He pointed out receiving anther glare.

“That doesn’t mean you’re old,” Sherlock muttered making sure the doctor was steady on his feet before dropping his arms before pouting.

“Come on, you child, let’s get you to bed,” John said pulling the younger and still pouting man to his feet, “And stop pouting!” he added with a chuckle.

“I am not pouting!” Sherlock argued puffing out his bottom lip even more and crossing his arms over his chest but followed John from the bathroom.

John shook his head and couldn’t help but smile. Reaching out a finger the doctor poked the protruding lip “And what do you call this?” he asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as they entered his room, “Fat lip John,” It was a lie and they both knew it.

Sherlock’s room was surprisingly normal. It wasn’t too clean or messy and even had a lived in feeling.

If John didn’t know better he would think a normal nearly middle aged man inhabited this room. The tall man surged forward and threw himself on to the comforter. He was smiling widely and sighed heavily, his eyes closed.

John smiled looking over the other man, “You can’t sleep yet, you got blood on your clothes.” He reminded him.

Sherlock frowned and opened his eyes “Very well.” He huffed and began pouting again, “You are just as bad as Mrs. Hudson.” He added as he sat up and began unbuttoning his shirt. The process was turning out to be difficult and slow.

John chuckled and stepped forward to help Sherlock unbutton his shirt, “I’m worse, I’m a doctor.” He joked.

“My doctor,” Sherlock murmured shutting his eyes and letting the other man remove the stained shirt.

Luckily none of the blood had soaked through and Sherlock’s chest was a clean, expanse of pale skin that was strangely muscular.

John poked one of the pectorals “Where you get these? I’ve never seen you work out.”

Sherlock looked down at his chest before bringing confused eyes back to John, “I was born with them.” He replied.

The doctor laughed, “I’m starting to feel bad that I like you when you have a concussion.”

Sherlock was ignoring him as he attempted to unbutton his trousers but like the shirt was proving to be too much. John chuckled shaking his head as he pulled the man’s hands away and pushed the younger man down on the bed. Snapping the button open with one hand. Hooking his fingers under Sherlock’s waist band he pulled, dragging the pants away leaving the black boxers.

Sherlock suddenly started giggling and John froze watching the other’s man rolling back and forth over the covers. This went on for some time until Sherlock was able to control himself. He sat up supporting himself on his forearms wearing that lopsided grin that John loved, “You pulled off my pants.”

The doctor couldn’t help but laugh throwing the pants over to the blood stained shirt, “Sherlock come on you need sleep.”

Sherlock stuck his tongue out before flipping over and crawling up the bed to face plant into a pillow. John managed to get the blanket over his friend patting his shoulder, “I’m going to get you some water.”

Sherlock didn’t acknowledge him so John got the water and returned to set it on the side table.

Looking down on the stretched out man, the doctor smirked before letting out a heavy sigh, “Good night Sherlock.” He said reluctantly heading out of the room.

Sherlock mumbled something into the pillow that made John stop.

Turning back to the room he looked to the other man, “Sorry didn’t catch that.”

Sherlock turned his head, “Stay with me.”

It wasn’t a question, it was more like a command but John was happy to oblige. Striping off his own blood stained clothing and throwing it to join the others. Moving to the other side of the bed he slid under the covers.

Sherlock rolled his head to look at him with one eye. “Thank you John.” He mumbled.

John grinned, “That’s the second time you’ve said that in the last twenty minutes.”

Sherlock shrugged, “I’m just showing my appreciation, aren’t I supposed to do that?”

“Well yes but you’re Sherlock and that’s not what you do.” John countered poking the other man in the shoulder.

Sherlock frowned though only seeing the one side turned down was almost comical and John had to fight the smile on his face.

“Why were you sad John?”

The doctor was startled his face falling as he stared at Sherlock.

The lanky man shifted his body on to his side facing John, “Earlier why were you crying?”

The short man bit his cheek hard as the feelings from earlier rushed back in a wave, “I already told you.”

Sherlock sighed inching closer, “Yes you thought I was dead but why would that make you sad?”

John sat up glaring, “Are you serious Sherlock?”

The younger man remained on the bed looking up at the doctor. “Yes John I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want an answer.”

“Why Sherlock, why is it so damn important to you?” John snapped.

Sherlock returned the heated glare, “I want to know why my life matters to you.”

“Christ Sherlock, of all the times to be a sociopath, why can’t you understand?!” John growled.

“I think you are missing the point of being a sociopath!”

John turned his whole body to face the man, “What a load of cock!” Sherlock blinked at the statement, “You and I both know that your so called sociopath diagnoses is total shite! How hard is it for you to comprehend that someone might give a damn about you! That someone might actually care whether you live or die!”

As John spoke he drew closer and closer to Sherlock until he hovered over him. Sherlock stared wide eyed at the doctor but he wasn’t finished.

“When I thought you were dead, I blamed myself! If you had died it would have been my fault. It’s my job to protect you and I couldn’t. Today you almost died and your blood would have been on my hands so forgive me for caring!”

“John it wouldn’t have been your fault. You wouldn’t have been one that pulled the trigger.” Sherlock pointed out.

John’s eyes hardened further, “Does that matter! Sherlock you are the best friend I’ve ever had even if you are the biggest pain in my arse! I don’t want you to die ok? I don’t want to be there when you die! I definitely don’t want to witness it!”

“ I’m not naïve, I know everyone dies but you…just thinking about you dying makes me sick and I can’t Sherlock…I can’t go through that, I wouldn’t make it through that.” John’s voice quieted and he sounded close to tears.

“Sherlock I know you don’t understand and I know that is why you are asking but when I saw you on the ground with blood leaking from your head I nearly died myself. I couldn’t function. I would rather die before I let anything happen to you, so to answer your question I was sad because I can’t face the thought of you dying and not being able to do anything about it.”

During his rant John had dropped his eyes from Sherlock as the tears welled in his eyes. At the moment John felt less the solider than he had ever been but it was true. Everything he said and it hurt, it was painful. John hated feeling so helpless but when it came to Sherlock there was one thing that was very clear to him. Sherlock was the priority even if he didn’t understand.

The silence between them stretched and John shifted embarrassed but determined to remain in the room. Sherlock slowly sat up but John kept his eyes down, avoiding eye contact.

Suddenly Sherlock wrapped around the little doctor burying his face in the crook of John’s neck and breathed in deeply. Sherlock was in the doctor’s lap with his legs around the other man’s waist. Long lanky arms tightened around John’s neck as the taller man tucked himself in.

John froze becoming a board against the other man. Sherlock’s hair was in his face and smelled faintly of blood. The doctor was utterly stunned by the embrace. In all their months of living together neither had gone so far with anything but the briefest of touches.

Slowly John relaxed and put his arms around the other man. He nuzzled his face into the dark hair taking in the scent of Sherlock and ignoring the blood. The tension flowed out of John and the very much alive man against him was the only proof he needed that they were truly going to be alright.

“Are you sad now?” Sherlock mumbled into John’s neck.

The doctor let out a low chuckle squeezing his friend to him, “No, not anymore.”

“Are you mad at me?”

John drew back without releasing Sherlock to look at the other man’s face. “I wasn’t mad at you Sherlock.”

Sherlock frowned, “You sounded mad.”

“I wasn’t mad I promise I was…frustrated?” It sounded more like a question. Frustrated didn’t feel like the right word.

“So was that a declaration of love?” The tall man asked.

John pulled further back staring wide eyed at Sherlock. “Excuse me?”

“You can’t live without me that’s what you said. Is that love?” The man pressed.

“I never said that!”

“Close enough,” Sherlock shrugged, “So is that love?”

John gaped at the man in his arms, not sure how to respond.

Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes before ducking in to peck John on the cheek startling the doctor further.

“What…ummm…what?” John stammered. His mouth didn’t want to work and his heart felt like it was in his throat.

“If it helps fix you, I do love you John and yes one day I may die probably from my own stupidity but I will do my best not to in your presences.” Sherlock spoke quietly mostly in John’s ear.

The doctor jerked his head to stare at the lanky man in his lap. The color changing eyes of Sherlock’s were strangely swirling with emotion something John rarely had the pleasure of seeing. This was the first time the supposed sociopath was actually opening up and being human.

Sherlock’s frown deepened and he poked at John’s chest, “Can you stop being broken? I don’t know what to do with you like this.”

John came back to himself as Sherlock’s words sunk in. “Did you just call yourself stupid?”

“Of everything I said that’s all you got!” The tall man snapped.

John smirked and dove in for a peck of his own on Sherlock’s plush lips.

“I love you too, you mad git.”

The smile that crossed Sherlock’s face was nothing like any John had ever seen and it was absolutely heartwarming and dispelled further the ridiculous notion of the man being a sociopath.

“Good.” Sherlock said as he pressed himself back into John and planting a proper kiss on the waiting doctor.

John would never fully stop worrying about Sherlock and he would be a little over-protective in the coming weeks but the doctor felt better knowing that he would do everything in his power to keep the prat of a man he loved alive.


	9. Swings and Seesaws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is being a creeper at a park so John goes to investigate.

_What a day!_

John thought as he packed up his stuff from the clinic and prepared to head home. He had been packed with patients all day and it had finally slowed down an hour or so after his usual off time.

This flu season was hitting everyone really hard and it was still early in the year. The days were finally getting longer and it was starting to get warm during the late afternoon, a terrible time to be stuck inside sick.

Stretching his arms over his head and bending side to side, John was rewarded with symphony of popping. Dropping his arms the doctor grabbed up his phone and went to slid it into his pocket before the device began ringing.

Looking at the caller ID that appeared, John cursed knowing his mad flat mate was up to no good.

“Hello Greg,”

It was the chief detective inspector of Scotland Yard, who only called John when A: Sherlock was ignoring his phone because one: it was out of reach or two: the case wasn’t rated interesting enough on Sherlock’s scale. Or B: Sherlock had done something and the D. I. needed John to come to the rescue and rein in the consulting detective.

“John, are you busy?” Greg asked sounding drained.

“Just got off of work, what has Sherlock done this time?” John asked as he headed out of the clinic.

There was a long drawn out sigh reminding John of an engine letting off some steam coming through the line. “We’ve received several complaints of a dark haired chap in a long, black coat hanging around by the play set in Somerford could you perhaps stop by and see what Sherlock is up to? I would send a car but you know Sherlock.” Greg was almost pleading over the phone.

John took in a deep breath wanting to refuse but already knowing what his answer was, “Of course Greg.” When it came to Sherlock, John could never say no.

“Thank you John,” the D.I. said with enthusiasm, “and tell him to stop scaring the kids.”

John chuckled, “Definitely, thanks Greg I’ll talk to you later.” Hanging up the phone John immediately tried Sherlock’s number but of course the git ignored him.

Grumbling angrily under his breath John jabbed out a text message.

**Where the Hell are you? – JW**

John waited growing more and more irritated as he stared at the screen willing for a message to appear. Five minutes later Sherlock finally replied.

**Somerford busy experimenting. – SH**

John snorted with disdain as he typed.

**What kind of experiment makes it necessary for you to scare kids at a park? – JW**

The reply from Sherlock was instant:

**They weren’t scared it was the parents, Gavin is an idiot! – SH**

**Greg! Sherlock, his name is Greg! You’ve known him a long time how do you still not know his name? – JW**

**Not important. Leave me alone, experimenting. – SH**

John glared at the last message before sliding the device into his pocket and flagging down a cab. It was a fifteen minute drive to get to Somerford. Paying the cab fare and getting out, John scanned the park.

It was nothing like any parks he had grown up with and it was a little overwhelming. Slides and wooden platforms, odds and ends all over John didn’t know what half the things were used for.

_Some sort of climby things?_

John concluded for a majority of the strange assortment of objects. Luckily the place was deserted as the sun sank lower in the sky, John was having a hard enough time in the jumble of equipment without trouble from crowds.

“Sherlock!” John called.  

There was no answer which he had expected. Sighing and cursing John continued to wind his way through the towering forest. The creaking of metal on metal drew John over to a different area of the park that was small section set apart from the rest. It was a giant swing set with at least twenty or so swings hanging from it with one occupied by Sherlock.

He was staring hard at the play area, swinging slowly absentminded.

John watched his friend for a moment, enjoying the calm that seemed to have the man. Sherlock was a difficult person to live with and even a worse person to be friends with but somehow when it was important Sherlock was a great friend. He could even be a great person if he wanted.

Moving closer John took the swing next to Sherlock. The doctor was concerned by his friend but was also repressing his irritation over the whole matter that brought John to the park after a long day at work.

Sherlock didn’t acknowledge John in anyway.

“Sherlock,” he tried.

Sherlock blinked slowly before turning his head and giving John a slight glare. “I said I am busy experimenting.” He snapped.

John returned the glare, “Greg called me. He was going to send an officer but thought you would handle me better.”

“Honestly John I don’t know why you insist on calling Lestrade Greg but if anyone cares I don’t need to have a chaperone.”  Sherlock grumbled.

“His name is Greg and Sherlock when you’re going about stalking a playground for children I might start questioning if you indeed do need a chaperone.” John chided.

Sherlock stared hard at John. “I am not a child, John.”

“I’m starting to question that as well.” The doctor fired back.

The consulting detective glared. “My excessive height and appropriate body developments will confide in my evidence of being near middle aged adolescents.”

John opened his mouth to counter when Sherlock’s words sunk in. “Did you just use height in your argument?”

“No I just used height to prove my point.” The taller man corrected.

“What are you implying?” John asked knowing this was somehow directed at him.

Sherlock shrugged looking slightly bored. “I imply nothing I am only stating as a fully mature adult I don’t need supervision.”

John snorted, “Mature is not a word I would use to describe you. Childish, arrogant, and at times completely thick I don’t see how you are a genius at other times but mature never.”

Sherlock huffed in response and folded his arms across his chest in defiance.

John couldn’t help but laugh at the display and pushed himself into the air. His swung back and forth before pumping his legs to get himself higher off the ground.

Sherlock sat still on his swing keeping his eyes forward as he sulked.

John went higher and higher, laughing with the feeling of exhilaration that was bubbling through his system.

“And you call me childish.” Sherlock said.

The doctor looked over to see his friend with a small smile. John chuckled, “I have my moments.”

Sherlock laughed and joined John.

They were soon flying high in the air, their argument forgotten as the feeling of weightlessness settled in. Back and forth they went sometimes in synch other times not. Darkness had fallen completely at this point but neither seemed to care.

“I haven’t done this in ages.” John breathed slightly out of breath as he swung passed Sherlock.

“I’ve never done this.” The taller man said.

The doctor faltered in his swinging and stared at Sherlock with disbelief, “Not even as a kid?”

Sherlock glared as he swung by, “What part of never are you missing John?” he snapped.

John let the comment pass without offence feeling Sherlock was a little insincere about something as simple as swinging. “I was just surprised.”

“You should be used to surprises when it comes to me John.” Sherlock stated.

It was true John was surprised by Sherlock on a daily bases and something like this shouldn’t be so surprising. The more and more the doctor had come to know the sociopath he had come to two conclusions: 1: Sherlock wasn’t as much of a sociopath, high-functioning or not, as he claimed to be and two: his childhood hadn’t been normal.

Things said by both Holmes brothers had proven that they hadn’t done much that normal kids growing up would have done. Mycroft more for the lack of interest while with Sherlock it had been more about wanting the elder Holmes approval though John wouldn’t say this out loud knowing Sherlock wouldn’t see it that way.

“What’s that over there?” Sherlock suddenly shouted. He was looking at something in the distance but John didn’t see whatever it was and didn’t get a chance to ask.

Sherlock jumped from the swing as it reached the highest point and ran off.

“Oi!” John called after him as he dug his heels into the dirt and got off once it had slowed considerably. Racing after the taller man, John nearly lost the man but found him when Sherlock had stopped.

Coming closer John discovered what had sparred Sherlock’s interest: seesaws, a whole troop of seesaws.

“Seesaws?” John asked looking over at Sherlock and watching the curiosity on the other man’s face. “Have you never seen a seesaw?”

“No but looking at the mechanics it doesn’t look too difficult to operate.” Sherlock replied looking over the toy with great interest.

John snorted, “It’s not supposed to be difficult Sherlock, it’s meant for children.” He walked over to one and sat on the low seat. Grabbing the handle he pushed up to even the thing out so the two seats were at the same level. “There you go, over there.” John gestured to the opposite seat.

Sherlock’s eyes widened and he took the other seat. With his balance on the other side John pushed up and Sherlock’s seat hit the ground startling the genius. The doctor laughed, looking down at Sherlock. “Now what?” he asked seeing if the other man would get his meaning.

Sherlock blinked slowly before pushing up with his own legs. John sank until his seat almost touched the ground and Sherlock rose into the air. The doctor watched the other man’s face closely very interested in the joy that was radiating from his friend.

They started going back and forth before Sherlock thought it would be funny to put his full weight down on his seat and left John suspended in the air with no means of returning to earth.

“Prat, let me down!” John snapped cursing his short legs.

Sherlock chuckled, “John we are on a playground can’t use that sort of language here.”

“I can use whatever language I damn well please when the place is empty!” John shot back secretly pleased that Sherlock was enjoying himself.

“Tisk, tisk my dear Watson the army seems to have corrupted you.” Sherlock teased his eyes flashing with humor.

John laughed, “You are a right bastard!”

Sherlock’s smile widened and he sat up lowering John back on the ground.

Once safely on land the doctor got off watching with amusement as the sudden loss of balance caused Sherlock to hit the ground hard, “Serves you right.” John chuckled receiving a glare from the detective as he clamored to his feet rubbing his backside.

“It’s not my fault you are vertically impaired.” Sherlock muttered and John couldn’t help but laugh.

“Vertically impaired, that’s got to be my favorite one.” He said.

A small smile escaped Sherlock and John’s own smiled widened at the small victory.

“So what were you doing here in the first place?” the doctor asked as they walked slowly through the maze of plastic and wood.

“John, once again your lack of observation escapes me.” Sherlock grumbled as he shot a glare, “I have stated many times since your arrival I was experimenting.”

John huffed throwing out his own glare. “Yes I understand that you arrogant git but what was your experiment?” he snapped.

Sherlock was quiet for a few moments before he mumbled something under his breath. John stopped and turned to the other man.

“I can’t hear you when you mumble,” John said crossing his arms over his chest.

Sherlock’s face was something that was hard to read and this moment wasn’t any different. John could see Sherlock had definitely said something and seemed a little apprehensive to repeat the words so it seemed they had something to do with him. It surprised John to see this. Sherlock was never apprehensive!

Sherlock shifted on his feet and looked anywhere but at John.

“Sherlock,” the doctor gave a warning, throwing on his captain face.

Sherlock sighed heavily in defeat, “I was seeing how long it would take before Lestrade called you to come retrieve me.” He muttered smiling sheepishly.

John stared for a moment before he let out a barking laugh. Sherlock seemed taken aback by the other man’s reaction and stood by watching as John snorted with laughter.

“You mean this was all some elaborate plan to get me out of work,” the doctor said once he had control of himself again, “Because you were bored or you really hate when I have to work?”

“Both.” Sherlock answered with a grin of his own, “I hate it when you leave John. If you’re gone how am I to not get bored?”

John shook his head marveling at the man before him. “You are a selfish bastard aren’t you?” he chuckled.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “You should be happy I don’t get offended by all the names you have called me this evening.”

“I wouldn’t call you them if I didn’t care.” John blurted out.

They stared at each other, one out of embarrassment the other in shock.

“You…care about me?” Sherlock asked looking as if the very idea was a new concept.

John cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders nervously. “Of course I care Sherlock. You’re my flat mate and my best friend.”

Sherlock looked ever further ramrodded by John. “Best…friend?”

“Well yeah, what did you think? I would just shot someone and blog about cases just for anyone.” The doctor said knowing he was digging himself into a deeper and deeper hole as the words came out of his mouth. This was a moment when Sherlock was being completely thick. He was a genius but human interaction was a foreign concept to him.

The tall man suddenly came forward and wrapped around John.

_Sherlock is hugging me…Sherlock is hugging me? Sherlock is HUGGING me!_

John’s thoughts had short circuited and it had taken him a few moments to comprehend what was happening. Relaxing into the other man, the doctor brought up his arms and returned the embrace.

“I’ve never had a best friend.” John heard Sherlock whisper. It sounded more like an assurance and nothing needed to be said.

Several minutes went by before Sherlock pulled away from John moving a least a foot back. His features had a slight blush that was obscured by the darkness but the doctor could just make it out.

“Shall we?” Sherlock asked gesturing towards the road.

John nodded and started forward. “So how long did it take him?”

“Him who?”

“Greg?”

“Who?”

“For God sakes Sherlock, Lestrade! How long did it take Lestrade to call me?” John asked irritated.

Sherlock grinned, “Twelve hours and twenty minutes, seems a little slow but we’ll have to try again to see if he has a better reaction time.”

John chuckled, “I’m sure he’s going to love this.”

“Obviously.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The park is an actual place but I've never been since I'm american and don't travel, sadly.


	10. Angry John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John realizes he loves Sherlock and deals with it badly.

_Oh bloody Hell pull yourself together John!_

I am on a date but for some reason I’m not on this date. My mind in wandering and I can’t make myself focus on the girl in front of me.

She is gorgeous. Big green eyes, softly tan skin, lovely long brown hair and her legs! I can go on and on about her legs. She is a vision yet I can’t keep myself interested in her.

My thoughts keep going back to my flat mate, my incredibly arrogant and completely amazing flat mate. I had woken this morning with anticipation of coming on this date. I was mostly excited about the probability of getting laid, what can I say. It had been a while since I had gotten any action.

It all turned south when that absolute git decided of all mornings to strut around in nothing but a very revealing bed sheet.

_I am not gay!_

I am not homophobic by any means but I had always been attracted to everything feminine especially creamy long legs. When it came to Sherlock Holmes well…he is different. Yes, amazing and intelligent, a down right genius but arrogant and at times incredibly thick. How have I come to this? How have I moved from craving the opposite sex to craving my flat mate?

Even in this little café, having a quiet and intimate lunch with a beautiful woman, I am stuck on the curves of Sherlock’s body outlined by the sheet and the scent of his unwashed self. It wasn’t body odor but just his plain natural flavor…

_Stop that!_

I chide myself and turn my attention back to…Maria? Margo? Shite…

She is still talking and has been the whole time I have been absent. I caught a few words “Flat,” “Job” but nothing stuck. Her voice was gravel compared to the warm baritone of one consulting detective.

_Damn it! God damned bastard!_

I knew what I need to do and I feel somewhat guilty. Mary or Marnie seemed like a nice girl but I can’t do anything with her especially when my thoughts are fully occupied by someone else. Morally unfair.

“Mya, I got to stop you there,” I start and Martha or whatever her name is frozen her mouth hanging open with an unfinished word. “I have to go,” I say and she blinks a few times, “I’m sorry I wasted your time but I have got someone I need to see.” I stand and give an apologetic smile before grabbing up my coat. I toss a few bills on the table for my untouched meal and turn to leave.

“It’s Anna,”

_Anna! How had I gotten M names?_

Oh well I doubt I will ever see her again anyway. I don’t acknowledge I had heard her on my way out. In a flash I am in a cab and speeding towards Baker Street.

I have gone insane that was the only explanation. I feel betrayed by my body! I sit in the back of the cab grumbling angrily under my breath. I had ruined a perfectly decent date and for what, cold distain from a sociopath?

_Great! Wonderful plan John! You really are an idiot._

Sherlock could be a good person but he quickly reverted to the sociopath façade. I know he’s not a sociopath but Sherlock doesn’t seem ready to leave that nonsense behind. I know this, I live with this and yet here I am pinning like a love struck uni girl!

“Bloody bastard.” I mutter to myself wiggling lower in the seat and glower at the floor.

I am irrationally angry and it’s directed at Sherlock. Why was that massive prat so irresistible? He was nowhere near boyfriend material.

_Boyfriend, partner…either way Sherlock was none of those._

“Baker Street.” The cabbie announced turning to look at me.

Muttering curses I roughly count out the fare and hand it over.

“You alright mate?” The driver asks taking the money.

“Yes, no…I don’t know. I have to go deal with a twat.” I reply.

The cabbie nods and gives a smile, “Good luck with that.”

I return the nod and clamorer out of the cab. The car drives away and I’m back to a burning rage.

Curling my fists and stomping towards the flat, I jerk the door open and go inside. I can hear Sherlock’s lovely violin singing upstairs.

“Git.” I hiss as I stomp up the stairs.

I throw the door open letting it slam against the wall, the violin stops but I don’t look. I shut the door and shrug off my coat to hanging it on the hook before loudly going to the kitchen where I loudly begin to make tea. It takes a lot for me to stay angry through tea making when it’s usually what calms me down.

In an effort to keep the anger I grab a nearby mug and throw it at the wall. Thick glass shards hit the ground with audible thuds. Not my brightest moment but I would rather be angry at Sherlock then what I really want to feel.

“Bad date?” The low baritone grounds me and my anger wanes.

_Wait! No! He’s the one you’re angry at, remember? Rein yourself in soldier._

The order from my subconscious is clear. I turn and glare at the man.

He is perfection standing in nothing but sweats. His pale chest dusted with a light coating of dark hair. The long expanse of neck trailing up to the sharp features of his face, dark curled hair halos his head dipping just below his ears. Those eyes; that are a rainbow of colors and damnable cheeks! Pouty cupid lips…long musician’s fingers.

Sherlock is leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded elegantly over his chest, a small smug smirk.

_Shite! Stop!_

The anger flares anew. He knows! He knows exactly what he’s doing! Virgin my arse! He’s a god damn tease!

Without a word I tear my gaze from Sherlock and stomp for the stairs to my room. I stay there for the rest of the evening ignoring the grumbles of my stomach and the persistence of my bladder.

 

The next morning I wake to what feels like a hangover. I had a rough night. Dreams of Sherlock plagued me through most of my dreams and left me thoroughly exhausted. I had dreamed of Sherlock on and off since coming to live in the flat but it was now ridiculous.

My pounding headache is almost enough to keep me in bed but the roar of my stomach and the sandpaper of my throat weren’t going to be ignored anymore. Flopping out of bed I pull on a shirt over my bare chest before stalking downstairs. I know I look horrendous but I don’t care.

My anger is back and my body is radiating with it. I dive into the bathroom before I encounter a certain consulting detective and relieve my abused bladder. I ignore the sleep deprived reflection in the mirror as I leave the bathroom and into the kitchen.

A shuffling in the living room alerts me to Sherlock’s presence, not that he needs to make a sound for me to know he was there. I am more attuned to Sherlock than I am to myself.

Forcing myself to ignore the other man and failing miserably, I start water for tea and go about making eggs and toast for breakfast.

 

With food done and tea on the table I sit placing a plate for myself and out of habit one for Sherlock.

“Oi food.” I yell buttering my toast.

“Not hungry,” came the response.

I let the butter knife clatter loudly on to my plate as I tighten my fist. I close my eyes as the anger boils with new heat. “I didn’t ask, get your arse in here and eat.” I snap using my captain’s voice and keep my eyes closed until I hear the scrapping of chair legs on wood.

My headache beats rhythmically as I open my eyes.

Sherlock is looking intensely at me I can almost feel the mind-reading eyes clawing out my every thought. He is shirtless as he was the night before and I have to keep myself from staring.

“I said eat, stop staring.” I growl chomping at my toast and look to the window nearby.

Bright, burning sunlight filters in between the curtains and I cursed it. The food in my mouth turns ashen and yet my stomach grumbles in hunger. I force myself to eat the toast before starting on the eggs. They are rubbery and the pepper on them is unpleasant. I can’t get myself to eat this. I set my fork down and push the vile substance away.

“Is there a problem?” Sherlock asks half way through his own plate.

Instead of answering I stand and head back to my room. I can’t stand to be in the room with him, not when my attraction is so obvious.

“Married to his work.” I mutter as I throw myself on to my bed and bury my face in my pillow.

My mind drifts back to the incident with The Woman, Irene Adler.

Oh how jealous I was. I didn’t even realize it until Miss Adler pointed it out. That’s when I noticed the blooming attraction I have for Sherlock. It started with the small smile that I only had the privilege of seeing or the bouts of laughter I pull from him. It was the annoying little things. Yes, even the shooting for the wall and the smiley face. I fell further and further.

At first I could ignore it but it seems now I have reached my limit. I can’t ignore the painful tightness in my chest every time he enters the room or the insufferable smile he puts on when I praise his deductions. It’s absolutely ridiculous, a man my age hitting rock bottom with love.

I groan loudly into the pillow. Love, god how cliché! In my younger years I wanted nothing more than to settle down and have a family now all I want is for Sherlock to look at me and to know he feels the same for me as I feel for him.

“John?”

I freeze. Sherlock’s voice is in my room and if his voice is in my room then the whole man is in my room…Christ!

“John, I know you are awake.”

My anger rears up. Of course I’m awake! Who could sleep with the torture I am living? “What do you want Sherlock?” I snap. I really don’t want to take my anger out on him but Sherlock just keeps showing up.

“I am curious what you are so angry about?” Sherlock asks and he’s closer I can practically feel him standing over me.

“Why do you care?” I hiss.

There is silence and then a weight settles on my bed next to my leg. He’s not touching me but the heat from his skin is burning the inches between us. I don’t need to look to know he is still shirtless. I don’t move from my pillow as I shift my legs a bit from him.

“John,” the voice is commanding and I want to look but my will power is stronger, I keep myself in the pillow.

“We have lived together for a while and I have found myself aware of your routines as well as your emotional responses but last night’s and this morning’s distain is nothing I have seen from you. It is alarming and I wish to know what the problem is so as I can fix it and have you return to yourself.” The words are so calculated and organized like a robot.

_This is the man you want John?_

Sadly the answer is yes.

“Sherlock, get out of my room.” My voice is low and sounds rather exhausted then the threat I’m attempting to convey.

“John I will not go until you tell me what I can do to end your tedious emotional rampage.”

Wrong word choice on Sherlock’s part it sets my blood boiling and the next thing I know Sherlock is on the ground with me on top pinning him.

“Leave.” I growl my face inches from his. I am in control of myself enough to keep my reactions from hurting Sherlock but just barely

Sherlock seems a little surprised but hides it quickly as he schools his features to be indifferent, “Your barbaric display of brawn is not enough to frighten me John so I repeat,” he brings his face even closer as he whispers the last word, “no.”

That’s the straw, the thing that spurs me into action. With a twist and a lot of tangled limbs I have Sherlock in a headlock and we are both on our feet. I have anger induced adrenaline racing through my system and have no trouble keeping Sherlock under my control. He hands fight against my arm around his throat but it does nothing to the restraint.

“Sherlock when I say get out I mean _get out_!” I pull the struggling man to the door and push him out as I release him from the headlock.

I slam the door shut and lock it knowing that Sherlock could pick it with ease but I’m egging for a fight and silently dare him to cross me.

He doesn’t.

I spend the rest of the day in my room and hear nothing from the floor below me.

 

Making my way down the stairs the next morning I don’t see Sherlock anywhere and his bedroom door is shut. It’s a relief really, not having him in the room when I’m trying to stay angry.

I feel my body relax slightly as I go about making tea. With my back to Sherlock’s door I almost miss the quiet sound of the door being opened. I ignore it and just let my senses follow Sherlock’s presence into the living room.

With the tea hot and steaming I fill two cups and go about making them up to each of our preferences. I feel slightly proud of the job on the tea and instantly feel ridiculous.

_It’s tea not a marriage proposal!_

_Quit right! Contain yourself man._

Gathering up the cups I proceed to the living room.

Sherlock is in his chair pretending to be in his mind palace. I say pretending because I know when he’s faking by the strained furrow of his brow that is so subtle anyone would miss it but I know him all too well.

“Here. Tea and stop faking I know you’re not in your mind palace.” I snap thrusting the cup into his hands.

That’s when I notice.

Sherlock is dressed in the same sweats from the day before and a stained grey shirt with his favorite blue scarf wrapped tightly around his neck.

Scarf, inside during the spring?

“Sherlock what is with the scarf?” I can’t help but ask irritated by the annoyance.

He flicks his gaze at me while he takes a stalling drink of tea. I glare at him knowing mine isn’t as effective or infamous as his.

“I was cold.” It’s a weak lie and we both know it.

I roll my eyes setting my cup on the coffee table. “Rubbish now the truth.” I say and he gives me that glare.

_He’s like a cat with its fur raised._

The thought don’t help nor do the mental imagine that accompanies it.

“It’s nothing John just cut myself shaving,” my doctor mode is instantly engaged.

I move to his side and reach for the fabric Sherlock bats my hands away. Angry I grab the hands and pin them so he can’t do it again.

The scarf comes off easily and reveals no mere cut but massive dark purpling bruises, “What the bloody hell?” I curse.

Deep muscle bruising, it’s a wonder how Sherlock is even holding his head up straight. The bruising encircles his entire neck. I look closer before realizing.

I did this.

I created these bruises.

I can make out the impressions my arms made on the skin of his throat.

Nausea washes through me and I’m falling to my knees staring at the sickening purple.

“Sherlock…”

What can I say?

What could I do to fix this?

I had hurt Sherlock and for what because I am angry and sexually frustrated?

Nothing, absolutely nothing!

There are tears in my eyes looking at the cruelty before me, what I had done?

“John.” Sherlock’s voice was tight.

I can’t look at him not with those horrible stains embedded in the normally porcelain flesh and I can’t look away from them.

Sherlock didn’t deserve them and I didn’t deserve him not when I had done something terrible like this.

“Sherlock…I..I…” I can’t form a sentence; no words can properly get my apology across. Nothing I can say will make this right.

“I should go, I shouldn’t be here. Not when…not if I…” Why is it so hard to speak to him?

“John,” Sherlock’s hand is touching my shoulder but my eyes won’t leave the bruises.

“Sherlock,” I manage to get that out, “I’m…sorry…” and cue the tears.

The tears that leave my face aren’t only for the pain I had caused Sherlock but they were for my own frustrations and my selfishness. They were for everything I had put Sherlock through because I am afraid to love him.

Yes, love. I love Sherlock bloody Holmes.

But these bruises weren’t love, they are cruel and disgusting. I am disgusting, I am a monster.

I somehow find the strength to stand still fixed on the bruises. “I…can’t…I…” That’s me in a broken sentence. I can’t. I turn to leave finally able to tear my eyes from the bruises but Sherlock’s hand slides into mine and stops me.

The warmth of his fingers and the softer skin then my calloused digits send sparks through my system. It’s a live wire and I feel somewhat calmer though I don’t deserve it.

“John why are you so angry? What did I do?”

Sherlock sounds like the multitude of abuse victims I see at the clinic every other week. The words spin me back to him.

“Don’t ever think you did something Sherlock. You did nothing to deserves this…It was all me.” I flinch as I see the bruises again and turn my face. “I am the monster who did this and you did nothing. I…Christ Sherlock! I am so sorry. I know that doesn’t make it better.”

My apology is weak when I can’t even look the man in the eye when I’m trying though there is nothing I can do. This is a stain as much as it is on Sherlock’s skin but unlike the bruise, this stain won’t heal.

“Then why are you so angry?”

And there is the question that needs to be answered.

I slid back to the floor gripping Sherlock hand tightly. It is anchor even if the words about to come from my mouth will push him away from me forever. I hold those cool fingers with all the strength I possess.

“I’m angry because…I don’t want to feel what I truly feel.” It was the truth.

Sherlock’s walls protect him, my anger protects me.

The other man slid forward until he was on the floor beside me, “John.”

Fingers grip my chin bringing it up. I can’t avoid his gaze any longer. Those obscure orbs capture mine and the anger evaporates completely. It is replaced by the sense of falling, weightless with a hard inevitable end. The tightening in my chest numbs the rest of me. I dive head first into those pupils and for a long moment I don’t care what happens.

“What don’t you want to feel?”

Fresh tears are leaking down my face, “You won’t want me here anymore.” I say staring down at the sickening violence. Sherlock’s fingers bring my head back up, locking his eyes with mine once again.

“Tell me.” It’s a command but there is no anger and I feel the words surfacing.

“I fought it for some long I tried to keep it inside but on my date…I realized and I knew I couldn’t, not anymore. I choose to be angry instead so I didn’t feel it, so I wouldn’t feel it. Christ Sherlock you are like a disease! A wonderful, amazing, arrogant disease and I don’t want a cure.”

Sherlock’s face is a blank slate and I know I’m an open book.

“I love you Sherlock. I’ve loved you since Baskerville when I saw how human you could be.” I can’t stop the tears coursing down my face, “But I don’t deserve you and you didn’t deserve this.” I gesture at the bruises, the things that will haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life.

And there’s that smile, that lovely lopsided smile that I melt over. That smile that constricts my breathing and short circuits my brain.

 Why is he smiling?

“You really are an idiot.” Sherlock says.

My stomach drops and I wrench my hand from his grasp. I knew this would happen! I knew this would be his reaction! The rejection is so violent I feel raw.

“John! You misunderstand!” Sherlock shouts making my ears ring as I struggle to get away from him.

I am subdued easily by his arms as they wrap around me, pinning me.

“Let me go!” I growl. I can’t sit here while he mocks me for my confession.

“No you misunderstand and you must listen to me completely.” Sherlock almost sounds desperate but I can’t see his face as it is buried in my shoulder.

“How can I misunderstand I’m an idiot Sherlock?!” I snap wiggling to free myself.

Sherlock releases a heavy breath, “Will you at least listen?”

Why should I listen? What could he possibly say in the aftermath of his cruel rejection? But of course those bruises stab into me and I feel guilty, my body stills.

“Fine,” I can never say no to Sherlock even when I’m withering inside.

His arms loosen around me and he pulls away, “As I have said before you see but you do not observe.” His smile is burning but it’s not mock or disgust I see but affection and fondness.

I have never seen such a look on his face!

“What do you mean?”

Sherlock leans towards me and pushes his forehead into mine. Our eyes are locked together and our breathing became one.

“Have you missed everything? The effort I’ve taken to keep you happy,” his voice is velvet, “As you know I am not very good expressing myself especially on an emotional level but…” Sherlock hands slid up my arms to grip my shoulders, “I say you are an idiot when I am the idiot as well. I let you believe that I…I felt nothing…” he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly.

I watch his face. I see the ageless flesh creased with emotions, something I have only had the honor of seeing. I wait letting him speak to me.

“These bruises,” his fingers brush the purple skin and I cringe, “they are nothing compared to what I’ve kept from you. Watching you press on and forcing me to watch you date those…women!” His hands on my shoulders tighten to near painful but I don’t make a sound. I am more intrigued in what he is saying.

“I can’t do it anymore John! I can’t stand by when all I want to do is…” Sherlock’s words catch and he stares at me.

It’s like the moment is frozen and I want him to continue I want to hear the words coming out of his mouth. His eyes are immersed in mine and he seems lost.

“What do you want Sherlock?” The words are quiet and my voice shakes as they are spoken. I couldn’t hold them back.

Without a word Sherlock moves in and presses into me. His mouth is on mine and the kiss is nothing but teeth and tongue. It’s rough and I can barely keep up when suddenly he’s gone. I’m left panting, wondering if I had just imagined the kiss.

Sherlock’s hands are gripping the back of my neck now and his nose is pressed against mine, he is panting as well. “You, I want you.” He answers pulling back slightly and looks into my eyes.

My heart is soaring and I move in taking control as our lips meet again. The first kiss had been demanding and Sherlock’s. This one was mine.

This kiss is slow and fresh. Fingers explore flesh and soft sounds of pleasure escape. I am shocked at the gentleness that Sherlock is giving. He is letting me lead.

I had fantasized about his lips and they are more than I could hope for. They are warm and plush and very responsive! I end slowly, pulling away with my eyes closed letting the moment linger before I open to look at Sherlock.

He’s eyes are shut and there is a smile on his face. I swoop in and peck him on the lips.

When I pull back Sherlock’s eyes open and he presses his forehead to mine again.

“Can you forgive me?” I ask glancing at the bruises.

His smile is soft and his finger grazes my bottom lip. “There is nothing to forgive, I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

I take a shaking breath, “I was angry and I should have kept better control of it.”

Sherlock’s fingers slid through my hair, sending a shiver through my spin. “I don’t want you to ever feel that way again.”

I can’t help the snort that escapes, “Even the great Sherlock Holmes can’t prevent that.” Sherlock rolls his eyes and snuggles his head into my neck, taking in a deep breath.

“I will do everything in my power so won’t feel that way again.” It was a promise. Something that I will never hear Sherlock make for anyone else and I feel my heart fill with tightness.

“My John,” Sherlock sags against me.

My heart is nearly bursting now and all I can do is hold on to the most important person in my life, Sherlock Holmes.


	11. Human Parts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock practices Latin on John.

John is eating breakfast when it all starts. Like every morning he gets his shower in and makes it down to the kitchen. The room is empty and silent. John makes his usual meal along with coffee and sits at the table after it’s finished, somehow finding a spot around the experiments. Settled at the table John begins to eat and pulls up a newspaper.

Not a second goes by before Sherlock bursts from his bedroom, crossing the room in a couple long strides, and pushes the newspaper aside, bringing himself inches from John’s face. He hovers there for a moment staring into John’s eyes. The doctor opens his mouth but Sherlock beats him to it with a thrust of his finger pointing directly at John’s nose.

“Nasus.” He declares looking expectantly at John.

The other man blinks rapidly and crosses his eyes to look at the pale finger nearly touching the end of his nose, “ummm…what?” It is definitely too early for Sherlock’s shenanigans though John can’t say he is surprised.

Sherlock glares and huffs in irritation, poking John’s nose, “Nasus.” He makes it seem like the doctor should know exactly what he is talking about.

“Nose?” The doctor says slowly unsure what is going on.

Sherlock nods with a triumphant smirk, “bonum.” He says before strolling away towards the bathroom (good).

John watches him go, _what the hell just happened?_ He thinks listening as the shower is turned on.

 

John is cleaning up his dishes when Sherlock exits the bathroom. The doctor doesn’t notice the other man until a looming presence invades his personal space again. Turning John is surprised his flat mate is so close he takes a step back but runs into the counter.

Sherlock gives him a disapproving look but say nothing on the matter. Instead the tall man suddenly grabs one of John’s hands and flattening it out. “Palma,” he says stroking the skin.

The touching is unnecessary but definitely not unwelcomed. The soft caresses send shivers through the doctor’s body. “Palm?” John answers watching the satisfied look on Sherlock’s face.

The taller man doesn’t release John’s hand just yet as his free hand brushes over the doctor’s cheek, “maxilla.”

John has now caught on to the game, or at least he think he has, “cheek.” He replies somewhat proud of the fact he can answer the questions even if he’s still not entirely certain of what Sherlock is doing.

Sherlock keeps stroking the doctor’s face. “Optimum,” he murmurs remaining a moment more before moving away and over to his violin. John remains in his spot watching the taller man retreat. When he comes back to himself he just shakes his head and goes back to washing the dishes (excellent).

 

Later John is sitting in his chair reading his book. The two flat mates had been sitting in comfortable silence since midafternoon when Sherlock gave up sawing on his violin. John’s book is a murder mystery, a genre that Sherlock detest, though he has yet to ruin the ending like he normally does. The book has come to the climax where everything is revealed and the killer is the plot twist that no one saw coming (everyone except Sherlock of course).

John is so caught up in his book that he misses his lanky flat mate move from his position on the sofa and slowly strolls across the room.

“John.” The genius whispers before straddling the doctor’s lap and knocking the book aside.

John cries out in protest but its cut short when the full weight of Sherlock is settled on his legs. The taller man’s knees are pressed to the back of John’s chair and their groins are touching. Sherlock’s hands are gripping the doctor’s shoulders to keep himself from sliding off. John’s hands automatically grab the other man’s hips to steady him.

“Sherlock, what the…” John starts to ask when a finger presses against his lips. He glares at the man above him but closes his mouth. John then focuses on Sherlock’s face and not the fact that they are touching in the most intimate way they have ever done.

Sherlock gives him a small smile before moving in.

John thought Sherlock is going to kiss him but the other man cups the side of his face and leans in close to John’s ear. “Auris,” the low baritone ripples through the doctor’s spine and he barely resists the urge to moan. His mind is now a whirlwind and the doctor has to concentrate just to answer the question without embarrassing himself.

“Ear?” John breathes his fingers digging into the lanky man’s hips. He yelps when a sudden nip at his ear startles him.

“Perbonus,” (very good) Sherlock purrs licking at the bite and moves down brushing his lips down John’s neck, “collum?”

The sensation driving through him is taking the breath from the doctor, “throat?” He hisses tilting his head back to give the detective better access.

Sherlock makes a disappointed grumble and pulls his mouth from the skin. John forces back a protesting whine that would have sure been humiliating.

“Non satis est John, collum?” Sherlock asks again keeping his mouth close but not touching (not quiet).

The doctor can hear the smugness in the other man’s tone, “Sherlock.” John groans really not caring about his flat mate’s game.

Sherlock pulls back further, “John,” he says in an exasperated tone, “collum?” It’s clear that nothing will progress until John cooperates.

The doctor huffs and glares at the man, “neck.”

“Ut patet,” (obviously) the taller man answers with an eye roll but lowers his head to nip at the flesh. Sherlock’s hands slide down John’s chest before slithering under his jumper, shirt, and stopping to dip in to the bellybutton, “umbilicus?” He swirls his fingers before pulling it out and thrusting back in.

John bits his lip, “belly button?”

“Comminus.” (close) Sherlock answers with a shrug of his shoulders sliding his hands farther, “abdomen?” His fingers stroke across the pudge that makes up John’s middle.

He fights back the urge to suck in his stomach knowing Sherlock would notice, “Stomach.” He replies.”

Sherlock smiles and his hands move on kneading John’s chest, “mamma?”

John rolls his eyes knowing exactly what Sherlock is saying, “That’s breast.”

Sherlock chuckles, pinching the other man’s nipples lightly until they form nubs. “Papilla?”

“God yes!” John moans throwing his head back against the back of his chair.

Suddenly Sherlock’s fingers stop, pull away, and ghost over the skin. John groans and lifts his head to glare at the other man. Sherlock has his own glare. “John,” his tone is warning, “ego voluntas subsisto.” (I will stop).

John didn’t need to know what Sherlock is saying to understand so he freezes fighting every urge to remain still. The two stare at each other, each waiting for the next one to move first. After several minutes of silence Sherlock finally lets a smug smile spread over his face as John allows him to take control.

Moving his hands back to the softened nipple, the taller man circles it slowly, coxing it back to attention. John holds back the moans from the simple touches and waits for Sherlock to continue his game. More minutes pass before Sherlock leans forward and mouths the raised nub through the clothing.

At that point John can’t keep the noises in and starts thrusting against the man but a strong hand grips his hip, keeping it down.

“Papilla?” Sherlock’s baritone purrs flicking his tongue out at the hardened skin.

John arches his back hissing, “Nipple.” He answers barely able to get the word out.

Sherlock smiles, leaning forward he sucks on the flesh again. His hand kneads as he suckles and John withers beneath him. Several dragging minutes go by before the taller man moves on to the other side but instead of teasing the nipple he presses his hand flat to John’s chest.

“Cor,” he breathes, kissing him lightly and pulling back to look John in the face.

The tenderness in Sherlock’s expression makes John’s breath hitch. Sherlock’s hand pressed to his heart is so gentle the soldier feels touched and can’t help the warmth bubbling through his system. The feeling can only be described as love, there is no other word for it. John has felt this since the day he met Sherlock, since the crazy man had gotten under his skin and eventually into his heart.

Reaching up John ran his fingers through the taller man’s hair and slides his hand down to caress his face. Smiling, John moves his hand further and down his neck going slowly until his hand rests over Sherlock’s heart. Kneading the warm flesh under the thin button up, John tries to convey all his love through his touch. The way Sherlock’s eyes light up tells John that the message is received.

“Heart.” The doctor answers quietly curling his fingers and pulling Sherlock down by his shirt.

The kiss they share isn’t heat induced but slow and passionate. They move together and the world melts away. This isn’t about sex or games, this is two people in love.

“Te amo.” Sherlock whispers against John’s lips.

The doctor slides his fingers down slowly unbuttons Sherlock’s shirt and pushes it from his shoulders. Their eyes are locked as John drags his hands down the exposed skin. Sherlock’s eyes roll and close as he arches into the man underneath him.

“Te amo.” Sherlock chants unable to do much as John undresses him, he manages to lift his legs to remove his pants and sweats.

“Pulchram.” (Beautiful) John murmurs using the only word his knows in Latin.

Sherlock moans wrapping himself more securely around John. The chair is a little restricting but they somehow make it work without too much issue. Sherlock hooks his thumbs, unbuttons John’s jeans and shimmies them off the other man’s hips.

“Sherlock.” The doctor hisses when Sherlock’s thumbs brush some very sensitive flesh.

The taller man chuckles, “patientiam, Captain.” (Patience's)

Hearing his title come out of Sherlock’s mouth makes the lust spike through John’s body and his entire being begins to vibrate with anticipation.

Sherlock’s fingers drifts down barely touching and John shivers, moaning. “Ita dociles.” The detective purrs and finishes undressing him. (So responsive)

John groans scrabbling to get the other man naked as well. Sherlock does little to help and even seems to be enjoying watching John struggle. When the doctor finally frees Sherlock and they are both naked.

“Oh god!” John breathes as they slide against one another.

Sherlock growls and grips the doctor’s hands and behind his head, over the back of his chair. “I’ve dreamed of this.” He whispers in John’s ear, “every night since you shot the Cabbie I’ve thought of you, vos.” (you)

The man withers with every word reduced only to senses; hearing and touching.

“Every time you brought a woman home or went out on a date, I had to stop myself from doing things you deem stupid or dangerous to keep myself from chaining you to the bed.” Sherlock growls nipping possessively, “when you came home smelling like them and I had the knowledge that you touched them and they touched you. Sometime I lied to get you to come home earlier.”

John heard the as if from a distance too caught up in the electricity coursing through him to focus fully on the words but he had always suspected Sherlock had been a little jealous since the man isn’t very subtle.

Sherlock bites down on the side of John’s neck and the man let out a loud moan bordering on pain and pleasure. Sherlock licked the bite, kissing it lightly. “But everyone knows, even before you did, that you are mine, mea!” He grinds his body down on John.

The doctor tightens his grip on Sherlock’s hips.

“Scitis hoc.” The taller man purrs deeply resting his forehead against John’s. (you know this)

Deep blue and moonlit eyes locked together as they began to move, their arousals rubbing together creating almost the right amount of friction. John wants more but knows that neither of them would last long enough to even prepare properly for something deeper.

“God yes!” John hisses sliding a hand towards their connected erections but Sherlock bats his hand away and grips them both snuggly together. The doctor erupts with a loud cry and tenses as his orgasm surges towards the surface. Sherlock moves his hand squeezing John’s base cutting off his release.

“Aaagg!” John protests shifting his hips to try and teeter over of the edge but Sherlock stills him.

Confused the doctor focuses on the man above him. Sherlock is staring intently into his eyes completely. John had only seen the man this focused on one thing and that is the Work, he feels a shiver run through him at being the center of the man’s attention.

Sherlock smiles softy and reaches to cup John’s face before kissing him thoroughly. When he pulls away the doctor is breathless and dazed from the on slaughter of emotions passing between them through their touches. Sherlock’s thumb brushes down John’s face before grasping their straining erections again.

“Simul.” Sherlock whispers pumping his fist, rubbing them.

John sighs with a nod, “Together, always.”

And that’s it, that’s all it takes for the two men to tumble over together. Sherlock grunts closing his eyes as sticky, warmth coats his hand and up his and John’s stomachs and chests. John breathes Sherlock’s name and basks in the aftershocks of his and Sherlock’s release.

Sherlock slides off John’s lap and the older man whimpers, reaching as his lover strolls away. He fells empty and cold without the warmth of Sherlock on him. The combined seed on him is cooling rapidly and beginning to become uncomfortable by the time the bare arse, lanky man returns with a damp cloth. John groans when oversensitive parts are brushed as Sherlock wipes him down.

“Silentium doctor,” he chuckles making sure to get every trace of their activities. (silence)

John regrets the cleaning but appreciates that Sherlock is taking care of him. He feels so boneless and sated, sitting back just to watch the other man move about until Sherlock comes back to curl in John’s lap. The doctor chuckles wrapping his arms around the other man and draws him closer.

John feels so content just holding the very naked man but he also knows Sherlock. Suddenly a pit forms in his stomach and the contents shift uncomfortably. His thoughts turn on him from the fluff of the moment to darker as realization sinks in. Sherlock is a cold, distant sociopath, high-functioning or otherwise, but it seemed he has used the feeling John has harbored for him in an experiment or some sort of other meaningless thing.

“Stop it,” Sherlock groans against John’s chest.

The deep, bored sounding baritone barrows in to him and makes him go rigid. “What?” John asks his voice cracks with the raw withheld emotion roaring through him.

“Your overthinking, stop it.” The curled man says lifting his head, glaring softly.

John sighs pulling his hands away with difficulty, “what am I supposed to think Sherlock?” He asks, “You spent the whole day using me for your anatomy memory practice and then you seduce me knowing full well about my feeling for you when we both know this won’t be going anywhere.”

John sucks in a lungful of air, “Tomorrow you’ll go back to your arrogant self, leaving me to push through this by myself while you delete it from your palace and pretend it never happened but I can’t do that. I’m not a machine Sherlock, I don’t have a mind palace I can’t just delete things whenever I want!” He growls griping the chair arms tightly and trying to keep from touching any part of the man in his lap.

Sherlock’s face morphs into a stoic expression and slides off the chair, standing over John with no care about his nudity. There’s a flicker in the man’s eyes that softens John’s anger. “Of course John how silly of me to think that I could deceive you and get away with it.” The sarcasm drips from every word but the cold tone with it almost makes John wince.

“Sherlock I…”

Sherlock leans in close cutting him off, “You have me all figured out, don’t you Dr. Watson?”

John can’t look away from the face hovering inches before him.

“You have the freak, the emotionless machine, the sociopath figured out. You understand me unlike anyone else.” The taller man hisses, narrowing his eyes, “I have lied to you John, you know this, but the first time I fully lay myself out to you, quite literally, you think it’s all a part of my game. You think this has some ulterior motive and that I may in fact be capable of actual human emotion has not even crossed your mind.” The rage and hurt in the man’s tone sends the message home for John.

It’s like a curtain has been opened and the doctor is finally seeing Sherlock has a real human being. John had seen this side of Sherlock but not with such passion and it shocked him.

The taller man is breathing heavily and looming over John every part of his being vibrated malice.

“You are not a freak.” John says scrounging up his courage to hopefully fix the situation

Sherlock glares at him a moment longer before his face relaxes slightly into a disbelieving look.

John reaches to grip the other man’s hands, “you are not a freak.” He repeats with full sincerity.

Sherlock’s face slips and the anger is gone leaving the pain evident in his features. He tightens his hold on John’s hands and the doctor knows he has to keep talking to keep the man before him from breaking completely.

“You are not a freak, you are not a machine, and for god sakes you sure as hell aren’t a sociopath. Sherlock I do know you, better than anyone else, and I know you like to play the emotionless card and I won’t ask you to change but I also know you like to play with other people’s feelings to use them. You haven’t done that with me, yet.”

John pauses, “I love you Sherlock, and I just don’t want to wake up tomorrow morning and have to go back to how it was before. I can’t do that Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s face softens further and he kneels on the floor before John. “It won’t go back to that John. I won’t let it, we can’t go on like we have. I tried to fight how I feel about you but John…you are everything to me.” The trembling in his voice is full of emotion and is threatening to break.

John has his doubts about Sherlock and knows that the man will never change, not that he wanted him to change, but in that moment the doctor wanted no one else and knows he never will.

“Te amo.” John whispers and smiles as Sherlock’s eyes widen, taking the opportunity he leans in kissing him soundly.

Sherlock rests his forehead on John’s, looking down on him. “Etiam te amo.” (I love you too)

John closes his eyes relishing in this feeling, the feeling of love and the relief of having his feelings know as well as returned. In all his dreams, never had he thought that this was a possibility and it boarder on near unrealistic. The warmth of Sherlock pressed against him is the only thing that keeps John from thinking otherwise.

They kiss slowly, the boys of 221B Baker Street settle in and the night draws on as they finally come together as they always should have, as they always will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Latin to English:  
> (I am nowhere close to being an expert in Latin. I used Google Translate a lot, so I apologize if the Latin is a bit off.)  
> Nasus – nose  
> Bonum – good  
> Palma – palm  
> Maxilla – jaw  
> Optimum – excellent  
> Auris – ear  
> Perbonus – very good  
> Collum – neck  
> Non satis est – not quite or it is not enough  
> Ut patet – obviously  
> Umbilicus – navel  
> Comminus – close  
> Abdomen – stomach  
> Mamma – breast  
> Papilla – nipple  
> Ego voluntas subsisto – I will stop  
> Cor – heart  
> Te amo – I love you  
> Pulchram – beautiful  
> Patientiam – patience  
> Ita dociles – So responsive  
> Vos - you  
> Mea – mine  
> Scitis hoc – you know this  
> Simul – together/at the same time  
> Silentium – silence  
> Etiam te amo – I love you to


	12. Found and Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile so I thought a short one-shot was needed.

There is a saying; that you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. I never really understood this until I truly felt like I had lost something, though in hindsight I can’t honestly say I’ve lost something I never had. I missed a moment, a moment I didn’t know I had but looking back now I can see that I had a multitude of chances and every single one passed me.

I don’t consider myself normal, normal is boring, I consider myself above the masses. I am unique. Everyone thinks they are unique but I know for a fact that I am extraordinary. In a population of ignorant minds; my brain functions beyond that of most comprehension and the only thing slowing me down is the necessities of my cumbersome transport. I figured that I would never get the opportunity to meet an individual that would perk my interest, I knew I would never have this chance meeting.

He was a simple man or so I believed. With one look I saw he was different from most people that I had to suffer. His medical background combined with his military history intrigued me but he further surprised me with his blatant acceptance. In all my years I had yet to meet someone who took me with all my oddity. The tiniest characteristics interested me and I allowed his presence to permeate my life as my flat mate.

Less than a day of knowing each other he killed a man to save my life.

For months I waited for my interest to wane, for me to grow bored of his mundane routines but even the normalcy he introduced kept my attention. I found myself relying more and more on his support not only with the work I thrived off of but the simplest things that usually eluded me.

I began to notice he cared for me. Outside of my family no one had shown much worth in my wellbeing and contentment thought contentment doesn’t fit what he wished of me. He wanted me happy, to enjoy my work and life as it was. I faked my annoyance at his constant pestering but quickly realized that I enjoyed it.

I relished his insistent on eating and sleeping regularly. At first I complied to stop the nagging but once it was established I continued to do so because of him. A few months in close proximity I returned the care he showed me in ways that I thought he would appreciate, mostly he did not. Subtly I changed for him, I molded myself to include him into my daily thoughts. He became my consistent companion. Even when he got that loathsome job or that painfully boring girlfriend, he would drop everything to come with me.

I didn’t notice how much he had infiltrated my life until the pool incident. His life was threatened and to everyone’s surprise I proved that I would risk my life to save him. In turn he did the same for me. I knew at that moment that I couldn’t give him up, not for anything in the world. For the first time in my life I felt feeling for another human being that weren’t negative. I didn’t know what exactly those emotions were, not until later, but I knew he was a part of me.

For another few years we faced down everything together I never wanted it change, I thought that I could keep everything at bay that threatened to tear him from my side. When the time came I gave him up to save him and it broken him. I made him believe I was dead.

Over two years I stayed away continuing my work and keeping out of harm’s way, I thought I was keeping him safe. I didn’t care what my absence meant to him or what it would mean in the future. I planned our reunion without thinking of any negative connotations. I thought myself clever by having this reunion set publically. I never thought he would react the way he did.

Even after he hit me and voiced his disapproval over the whole situation I still held high hopes for the future expecting everything to go back to how it was before. The empty flat should have been a sign. He didn’t live there any more, he hadn’t in some time. The place was covered a thick layer of dust and nothing had been touched in months, it smells of disuse. I continued to be naïve about everything.

It started to set in when he didn’t immediately return. The flat remained an echo of what had been. I played it off as a mistake on his part and not my own doing. I finally began to realize I felt something significant for him, that living without him had been far more damaging then I first understood.

When he did come to help me, it nearly broke me to see the pain I had caused. He had trusted me and I betrayed him. I tried to justify it by telling him it was the only way to save his life but I already knew that I hadn’t even considered another way.

Slowly he drifted away from me and I was alone more often than not. I put on a disinterested face and found other outlets to keep me busy and to keep me from thinking about him. It did nothing. The pain of his absence grew and the final blow came the day he got married.

The woman was wonderful, the match he had always wanted, and I faked my happiness for them both even though I was screaming inside. I couldn’t bring myself to try and stop the union knowing that any tampering I did would be for selfish reason and I couldn’t do that to him again, not after the hurt I had already caused.

I watched from the front row as he was lost to me forever and put on a smile for him.

I left the reception early, I couldn’t watch them after revealing they would soon be having a child. I knew that he had wanted children for years as well as a wife but I couldn’t endure his happiness. I turned back to a life I had left behind and submitted myself to destroying my body slowly.

I didn’t see him for months while I wallowed in self-pity. Tormenting myself with what ifs and drowning it all out with every hit. I disguised my downward spiral as a case but relishing every moment I wasn’t focused and keeping all my thoughts away from him. By chance he found me, I didn’t ever want him to see me that way but I didn’t anticipate his arrival. It didn’t surprise me when he voiced his disapproval but my heart celebrated the hint of affection, I hated that. He stayed with me, he worked with me, and it was nearly like old times until the end when he chose her.

I almost had him to myself again when I showed him her betrayal, her lies but once again I let him go. I told him to go back to her, to help her, because I knew she was what he wanted. He went back to her and it broken me completely. He chose her and I encouraged it. He was never mine but it still left like I was losing him. He was never mine, he was never mine.

 


End file.
